The  Golden  Butterfly 


by 

Walter  Besant  s^JamesRice 


^o<l 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


^7  J 


..^ 


^l^uK-^/^^JiuL{% ; 


^ 


TO 

EDM  UND    YA  TE  S, 

EDITOR  OF  "  THE  WORLD," 
IN   WHICH    PAPER    "  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY 
WAS    FIRST    PUBLISHED. 

E!jt!3  ^torg 

IS    INSCRIBED    BY    THE    AUTHORS. 


625471 


PRE  FACE. 


THE  Golden  Butterfly,  which  gives  a  name  to  this 
novel,  was  seen  by  an  English  traveller,  two  years 
ago,  preserved  as  a  curiosity  in  a  mining  city  near  Sacra- 
mento, where  it  probably  still  remains.  This  curious 
freak  of  Nature  is  not  therefore  an  invention  of  our  own. 
To  the  same  traveller — Mr.  Edgar  Besant — we  are  indebted 
for  the  description  on  which  is  based  our  account  of  Em- 
pire City. 

The  striking  of  oil  in  Canada  in  the  manner  described 
by  Gilead  P.  Beck  was  accomplished — with  the  waste  of 
millions  of  gallons  of  the  oil,  for  want  of  casks  and  buckets 
to  receive  it,  and  with  the  result  of  a  promise  of  almost 
boundless  wealth — by  a  man  named  Shaw,  some  ten  years 
ago.  Shaw  speculated,  we  believe  ;  lost  his  money,  and 
died  in  poverty. 

Names  of  great  living  poets  and  writers  have  been  used 
in  this  book  in  connection  with  a  supposed  literary  banquet. 
A  critic  has  expressed  surprise  that  we  have  allowed  Gilead 
Beck's  failure  to  appreciate  Browning  to  stand  as  if  it  were 
our  own.  Is  a  writer  of  fiction  to  stop  the  action  of  his 
story  in  order  to  explain  that  it  is  his  character's  opinion 
and  not  his  own,  that  he  states  ?  And  it  surely  is  not  ask- 
ing too  much  to  demand  of  a  critic  that  he  should  consider 
first  of  all  the  consistency  of  a  character's  actions  or 
speeches.  Gilead  Beck,  a  man  of  no  education  and  little 
reading,  but  of  considerable  shrewdness,  finds  Browning 


PREFACE. 

unintelligible  and  harsh.  What  other  verdict  could  be 
expected  if  the  whole  of  Empire  City  in  its  palmiest  days 
had  been  canvassed  ? 

Moreover,  we  have  never,  even  from  that  great  writer  s 
most  ardent  admirers,  heard  an  opinion  that  he  is  either 
easy  to  read,  or  musical.  The  compliments  which  Mr 
Beck  paid  to  the  guests  who  honoured  his  banquet  are  of 
course  worded  just  as  he  delivered  them. 

Gilead  Beck's  experiences  as  an  editor  are  taken — with 
a  little  dressing — from  the  actual  experiences  of  a  living 
Canadian  journalist. 

From  their  Virginian  home  Jack  Dunquerque  and 
Phillis  his  wife  send  greetings  to  those  who  have  already 
followed  their  fortunes.  She  only  wishes  us  to  add  that 
Mr.  Abraham  Dyson  was  right,  and  that  the  Coping  Stone 
of  every  woman's  education  is  Love.  Most  people  know 
this,  she  says,  from  reading  :  but  she  never  did  read  ;  and 
the  real  happiness  is  to  find  it  out  for  yourself. 

W.  B. 
J.R. 

March,  iSjJ, 


THE  GOLDEN  BUTTERFLY. 


PROLOGUE. 


*  *  11  THAT  do  you  think,  chief?" 

V  V  The  speaker,  who  was  leading  by  a  half  a 
length,  turned  in  his  saddle  and  looked  at  his  companion. 

•'  Push  on,  ■  growled  the  chief,  who  was  a  man  of  few 
words. 

"  If  you  were  not  so  intolerably  conceited  about  the 
value  of  your  words- -hang  it,  man,  you  are  not  the  Poet 
Laureate  ! — you  might  give  your  reasons  why  we  should 
not  camp  where  we  are.  The  sun  will  be  down  in  two 
hours,  the  way  is  long,  the  wind  is  cold,  or  will  be  soon. 
This  pilgrim  has  tightened  his  belt  to  stave  off  the  gnaw- 
ing at  his  stomach;  here  is  running  water,  here  i?  wood, 
here  is  everything  calculated  to  charm  the  poetic  mind  even 

of  Captain  Ladds  " 

"  Road  !  "  interrupted  his  fellow-traveller,  pointing 
along  the  track  marked  more  by  deep  old  wheel-ruts, 
grown  over  with  grass,  than  by  any  evidences  of  engineer- 
ing skill.  "Roads  lead  to  places;  places  have  beds;  beds 
are  warmer  than  grass — no  rattlesnakes  in  beds;  miners  in 
hotels — amusing  fellows,  miners." 

"If  ever  I  go  out  again  after  buffaloes,  or  bear,  or 
mountain-deer,  or  any  other  game  whatever  which  this 
great  continent  offers,  with  a  monosyllabic  man,  may  I  be 
condemned  to  another  two  months  of  buffalo  steak  without 
Worcester  sauce,  such  as  I  have  had  already;   may  I  be 


12  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

poisoned  with  bad  Bourbon  whisky;  may  I  never  again  see 
the  sweet  shady  side  of  Pail  Mall;  may  I  " 

Here  he  stopped  suddenly,  for  want  of  imagination  to 
complete  the  curse. 

The  first  speaker  was  a  young  man  of  four  and  twenty — 
the  age  which  is  to  my  sex  what  eighteen  is  to  the  other, 
because  at  four  and  twenty  youth  and  manhood  meet. 
He  of  four  and  twenty  is  yet  a  youth,  inasmuch  as  women 
are  still  angels;  every  dinner  is  a  feast,  every  man  of  higher 
rank  is  a  demigod,  and  every  book  is  true.  He  is  a  man, 
inasmuch  as  he  has  the  firm  step  of  manhood,  he  has 
passed  through  his  calf-love,  he  knows  what  claret  means, 
and  his  heart  is  set  upon  the  things  for  which  boys  care 
nothing.  He  is  a  youth,  because  he  can  still  play  a  game 
of  football  and  rejoice  amazingly  in  a  boat-race;  he  is  a 
man,  because  he  knows  that  these  things  belong  to  the 
past,  and  that  to  concern  one's  self  seriously  with  athletics, 
when  you  can  no  longer  be  an  athlete  in  the  games,  is  to 
put  yourself  on  the  level  of  a  rowing  coach  or  the  athletic 
critic  of  a  sporting  paper. 

Being  only  four  and  twenty,  the  speaker  was  in  high 
spirits.  He  was  also  hungry.  He  was  always  both. 
What  has  life  better  to  offer  than  a  continual  flow  of  ani- 
mal spirits  and  a  perpetual  appetite  ?  He  was  a  tall, 
slight,  and  perhaps  rather  a  weedy  youth,  a  little  too  long 
of  leg,  a  little  too  narrow  in  the  beam,  a  little  spare  about 
the  shoulders;  but  a  youth  of  a  ruddy  and  a  cheerful  coun- 
tenance. To  say  that  the  lines  of  his  face  were  never  set 
to  gravity  would  be  too  much,  because  I  defy  any  man  to 
laugh  when  he  is  sleeping,  eating,  or  drinking.  At  all 
other  times  this  young  man  was  ready  to  laugh  without 
stopping.  Not  a  foolish  cackle  of  idiotic  vacuity  such  as 
may  be  heard  in  Earlswood  asylum  or  at  a  tea-party  to 
meet  the  curate,  but  a  cheerful  bubble  of  mirth  and  good- 
humour,  proof  that  the  spirit  within  took  everything 
joyously,  seeing  in  every  misadventure  its  humorous  side, 
^d  in  every  privatiori  jts  absurdity, 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  I3 

The  other  who  rode  beside  him  was  some  years  older  at 
least.  A  man  of  thirty-five,  or  perhaps  more;  a  man  with 
a  hatchet-face — nose  and  forehead  in  one  straight  line; 
long  chin  and  long  upper  lip  in  another;  face  red  with 
health  as  well  as  bronzed  with  the  sun — a  good  honest 
face,  supernaturally  grave,  grave  beyond  all  understand- 
ing ;  lips  that  were  always  tightly  closed  ;  eyes  which 
sometimes  sparkled  in  response  to  some  genial  thought, 
or  bubbled  over  at  some  joke  of  his  companion,  but  which, 
as  a  rule,  were  Uke  gimlets  for  sternness,  so  that  strangers, 
especially  stranger  servants — the  nigger  of  Jamaica,  the 
guileless  Hindoo  of  his  Indian  station,  and  other  mem- 
bers of  the  inferior  human  brotherhood — trembled  exceed- 
ingly when  they  met  those  eyes.  Captain  Ladds  was 
accordingly  well  served,  as  cold,  reserved  men  generally 
are.  Mankind  takes  everything  unknown  pro  terribili, 
for  something  dreadful,  and  until  we  learn  to  know  a  man, 
and  think  we  know  him,  he  is  to  be  treated  with  the  respect 
due  to  a  possible  enemy.  Hostis  means  a  stranger,  and 
it  is  for  strangers  that  we  keep  our  brickbats. 

People  who  knew  Ladds  laughed  at  this  reputation. 
They  said  the  gallant  captain  was  a  humbug  ;  they  pre- 
tended that  he  was  as  gentle  as  a  turtle-dove ;  beneath 
those  keen  eyes,  they  said,  and  behind  that  sharp  hatchet- 
face,  lurked  the  most  amiable  of  dispositions.  At  any 
rate,  Ladds  was  never  known  to  thrash  a  native  servant, 
or  to  swear  more  than  is  becoming  and  needful  at  a  syce, 
while  his  hatchet-face  had  been  more  than  once  detected 
in  the  very  act  of  looking  as  soft  and  tender  as  a  young 
mother's  over  her  first-born.  The  name  of  this  cavalier 
was  short  and  simple.  It  was  Thomas  Ladds.  His  inti- 
mate friends  called  him  Tommy. 

They  were  in  California,  and  were  not  buffalo-hunting 
now,  because  there  is  not  a  buffalo  within  five  hundred 
miles  of  Sacramento.  Their  buffalo-hunting  was  over, 
having  been  accompanied  by  such  small  hardships  as  have 
been  already  alluded  to.     They  rode  along  a  track  which 


14  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

was  as  much  like  a  road  as  Richmond  Park  is  like  the 
Forest  of  Arden.  They  were  mounted  on  a  pair  of  small 
nervous  mustangs  ;  their  saddles  were  the  Mexican  sad- 
dles used  in  the  country,  in  front  of  which  was  the  never- 
failing  horn.  Round  this  was  wound  the  horsehair  lariette. 
which  serves  the  Western  Nimrod  for  lassoing  by  day,  and 
for  keeping  off  snakes  at  night,  no  snake  having  ever 
been  known  to  cross  this  barrier  of  bristly  horsehair.  You 
might  as  well  expect  a  burgling  coolie,  smeared  with  oil, 
and  naked,  to  effect  his  escape  by  crawling  through  a 
hedge  of  prickly  pear.  Also,  because  they  were  in  a 
foreign  land,  and  wished  to  be  harmony  with  its  institut- 
ions, they  wore  immense  steel  spurs,  inlaid  with  silver 
filigree,  and  furnished  with  "  lobs "  attached  to  them, 
which  jangled  and  danced  to  make  melody,  just  as  if  they 
formed  part  of  an  illustration  to  a  Christmas  book.  Boots 
of  course,  they  wore,  and  the  artistic  instinct  which,  a 
year  before,  had  converted  the  younger  man  into  a  thing 
of  beauty  and  a  joy  for  the  whole  Park  in  the  afternoon, 
now  impelled  him  to  assume  a  cummerbund  of  scarlet  silk, 
with  white-tasselled  fringes,  the  like  of  which,  perhaps, 
had  never  before  been  seen  on  the  back  of  Californian 
mustang.  His  companion  was  less  ornate  in  his  personal 
appearance.  Both  men  carried  guns,  and  if  a  search  had 
been  made,  a  revolver  would  have  been  found  either  hid- 
den in  the  belt  of  each  or  carried  perdu  in  the  trousers- 
pocket.  In  these  days  of  Pacific  Railways  and  scamper- 
ing Globe  Trotters,  one  does  not  want  to  parade  the 
revolver  ;  but  there  are  dark  places  on  the  earth,  from  the 
traveller's  as  well  as  from  the  missionary's  point  of  view, 
where  it  would  be  well  to  have  both  bowie  and  Derringer 
ready  to  hand.  On  the  American  continent  the  wander- 
ing lamb  sometimes  has  to  lie  down  with  the  leopard,  the 
harmless  gazelle  to  journey  side  by  side  with  the  cheetah, 
and  the  asp  may  here  and  there  pretend  to  play  innocently 
over  the  hole  of  the  cockatrice. 
Behind  the  leaders  followed  a  little  troop  of  three,  con- 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  1$ 

sisting  of  one  English  servant  and  two  "  greasers."  The 
latter  were  dressed  m  plain  unpretending  costume  of  flan- 
nel shirt,  boots,  and  rough  trousers.  Behind  each  hung 
his  rifle.  The  English  servant  was  dressed  like  his  mas- 
ter, but  *'  more  so  ,  his  spurs  being  heavier,  the  pattern 
of  his  check-shirt  bemg  farger,  his  saddle  bigger  ;  only 
for  the  silk  cummerbund  he  wore  a  leather  strap,  the  last 
symbol  of  the  honourable  condition  of  dependence.  He 
rode  m  advance  of  the  greasers,  whom  he  held  in  con- 
tempt, and  some  thirty  yards  behmd  the  leaders.  The 
Mexicans  rode  in  silence,  smoking  cigarettes  perpetually. 
Sometimes  they  looked  to  their  guns,  or  they  told  a  story, 
or  one  would  sing  a  snatch  of  a  song  in  a  low  voice  ; 
mostly  they  were  grave  and  thoughtful,  though  what  a 
greaser  thinks  about  has  never  yet  been  ascertained. 

The  country  was  so  far  in  the  Far  West  that  the  Sierra 
Nevada  lay  to  the  east.  It  was  a  rich  and  beautiful  coun- 
try :  there  were  park-like  tracts — supposing  the  park  to 
be  of  a  primitive  and  early  settlement-kind — stretching 
out  to  the  left  These  were  dotted  with  white  oaks.  To 
the  right  rose  the  sloping  sides  of  a  hill,  which  were 
covered  with  the  brush-wood  called  the  chaparelle,  in 
which  grew  the  manzanita  and  the  scrub-oak,  with  an  oc- 
casional cedar  pine,  not  in  the  least  like  the  cedars  of 
Lebanon  and  Clapham  Common.  Hanging  about  in  the 
jungle,  or  stretching  its  arms  along  the  side  of  the  dry 
water  course  which  ran  at  the  traveller's  feet  beside  the 
road  was  the  wild  vine,  loaded  with  its  small  and  pretty 
grapes  now  ripe.  Nature,  in  inventing  the  wild  grape, 
has  been  as  generous  as  in  her  gift  of  the  sloe.  It  is  a 
fruit  of  which  an  American  once  observed  that  it  was 
calculated  to  develop  the  generosity  of  a  man's  nature, 
"because,  he  explained, 'you  would  rather  give  it  to 
your  neighbour  than  eat  it  yourself.  * 

The  travellers  were  low  down  on  the  western  slopes  of 
the  Sierra  ,  they  were  in  the  midst  of  dales  and  glades — 
cafions   and  gulches,  of  perfect  loveliness,   shut  in  by 


l6  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

mountains  which  rose  over  and  behind  them  like 
friendly  giants  guarding  a  troop  of  sleeping  maidens. 
Pelion  was  piled  on  Ossa  as  peak  after  peak  rose 
higher,  all  clad  with  pine  and  cedar,  receding  farther 
and  farther,  till  peaks  became  points,  and  ridges  became 
sharp  edges. 

It  was  autumn,  and  there  were  dry  beds,  which  had 
in  the  spring  been  rivulets  flowing  full  and  clear  from 
the  snowy  sides  of  the  higher  slopes  ;  yet  among  them 
lingered  the  flowers  of  April  upon  the  shrubs,  and  the 
colours  of  the  fading  leaves  mingled  with  the  hues  of  the 
autumn  berries. 

A  sudden  turn  in  the  winding  road  brought  the  fore- 
most riders  upon  a  change  in  the  appearance  of  the  coun- 
try. Below  them  to  the  left  stretched  a  broad  open  space, 
where  the  ground  had  been  not  only  cleared  of  whatever 
jungle  once  grew  upon  it,  but  also  turned  over.  They 
looked  upon  the  site  of  one  of  the  earliest  surface-mining 
grounds.  The  shingle  and  gravel  stood  about  in  heaps  ; 
the  gulleys  and  ditches  formed  by  the  miners  ran  up  and 
down  the  face  of  the  country  like  the  wrinkles  in  the 
cheek  of  a  baby  monkey  ;  old  pits,  not  deep  enough  to 
kill,  but  warranted  to  maim  and  disable,  lurked  like  man- 
traps in  the  open  ;  the  old  wooden  aqueducts,  run  up  by 
the  miners  in  the  year  '52,  were  still  standing  where  they 
were  abandoned  by  the  "  pioneers  ;  "  here  and  there  lay 
about  old  washing-pans,  rusty  and  broken,  old  cradles, 
and  bits  of  rusty  metal  which  had  once  belonged  to  shov- 
els. These  relics  and  signs  of  bygone  gatherings  of  men 
were  sufficiently  dreary  in  themselves,  but  at  intervals 
there  stood  the  ruins  of  a  log-house,  or  a  heap  which  had 
once  been  a  cottage  built  of  mud.  Palestine  itself  has  no 
more  striking  picture  of  desolation  and  wreck  than  a  de- 
serted surface-mine. 

They  drew  rein  and  looked  in  silence.  Presently  they 
became  aware  of  the  presence  of  life.  Right  in  the  fore- 
ground, about  two  hundred  yards  before  them,  there  ad- 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  I7 

vanced  a  procession  of  two.  The  leader  of  the  show,  so 
to  speak,  was  a  man.  He  was  running.  He  was  running 
so  hard,  that  anybody  could  see  his  primary  object  was 
speed.  After  him,  with  heavy  stride,  seeming  to  be  in  no 
kind  of  hurry,  and  yet  covering  the  ground  at  a  much 
greater  rate  than  the  man,  there  came  a  bear — a  real  old 
grisly.  A  bear  who  was  "  shadowing  "  the  man  and  meant 
claws.  A  bear  who  had  an  insult  to  avenge,  and 
was  resolved  to  go  on  with  the  affair  until  he  had 
avenged  it.  A  bear,  too,  who  had  his  enemy  in  the 
open,  where  there  was  nothing  to  stop  him,  and  no 
refuge  for  his  victim  but  the  planks  of  a  ruined  log-house, 
could  he  find  one. 

Both  men,  without  a  word,  got  their  rifles  ready.  The 
younger  threw  the  reins  of  his  horse  to  his  companion  and 
dismounted. 

Then  he  stood  still  and  watched. 

The  most  exhilarating  thing  in  the  whole  world  is 
allowed  to  be  a  hunt.  No  greater  pleasure  in  life  than 
that  of  the  Shekarry,  especially  if  he  be  after  big  game. 
On  this  occasion  the  keenness  of  the  sport  was  perhaps 
intensified  to  him  who  ran,  by  the  reflection  that  the  cus- 
tomary position  of  things  was  reversed.  No  longer  did  he 
hunt  the  bear  ;  the  bear  hunted  him.  No  longer  did  he 
warily  follow  up  the  game  ;  the  game  boldly  followed  him. 
No  joyous  sound  of  horns  cheered  on  the  hunter :  no 
shout,  such  as  those  which  inspirit  the  fox  and  put  fresh 
vigour  into  the  hare — not  even  the  short  eager  bark  of 
the  hounds,  at  the  sound  of  which  Reynard  begins  to 
think  how  many  of  his  hundred  turns  are  left.  It  was  a 
silent  chase.  The  bear,  who  represented  in  himself  the 
field — men  in  scarlet,  ladies,  master,  pack,  and  everything 
— set  to  work  in  a  cold  unsympathetic  way,  infinitely  more 
distressing  to  a  nervous  creature  than  the  cheerful 
ringing  of  a  whole  field.  To  hunt  in  silence  would 
be  hard  for  any  man  ;  to  be  hunted  in  silence  is  in- 
tolerable 


r8  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

Grisly  held  his  head  down  and  wagged  it  from  side  to 
side,  while  his  great  silent  paws  rapidly  cleared  the  ground 
and  lessened  the  distance. 

"  Tommy,"  whispered  the  young  fellow,  "  I  can  cover 
him  now." 

"  Wait,  Jack.  Don't  miss.  Give  Grisly  two  minutes 
more.     Gad  !  how  the  fellow  scuds  !  " 

Tommy,  you  see,  obeyed  the  instinct  of  nature.  He 
loved  the  hunt :  if  not  to  hunt  actively,  to  witness  a  hunt. 
It  is  the  same  feeling  which  crowds  the  benches  at  a  bull- 
fight in  Spain.  It  was  the  same  feeling  which  lit  up  the 
faces  in  the  Coliseum  when  Hermann,  formerly  of  the 
Danube,  prisoner,  taken  red-handed  in  revolt,  and  there- 
fore moriiurusy  performed  with  vigour,  sympathy,  and 
spirit  the  r6le  of  Actseon,  ending,  as  we  all  know,  in  a 
splendid  chase  by  bloodhounds  ;  after  which  the  poor 
Teuton,  maddened  by  his  long  flight  and  exhausted  by 
his  desperate  resistance,  was  torn  to  pieces,  fighting  to  the 
end  with  a  rage  past  all  acting.  It  is  our  modern  pleasure 
to  read  of  pain  and  suffering.  Those  were  the  really  pleas- 
ant days  to  the  Roman  ladies  when  tiiey  actually  witnessed 
living  agony, 

"  Give  Grisly  two  minutes,"  said  Captain  Ladds. 

By  this  time  the  rest  of  the  party  had  come  up,  and 
were  watching  the  movements  of  man  and  bear.  In  the 
plain  stood  the  framework  of  a  ruined  wooden  house. 
Man  made  for  log-house.  Bear,  without  any  apparent 
effort,  but  just  to  show  that  he  saw  the  dodge,  and  meant 
that  it  should  not  succeed,  put  on  a  spurt,  and  the  distance 
between  them  lessened  every  moment.  Fifty  yards  ; 
forty  yards.  Man  looked  round  over  his  shoulder.  The 
log-house  was  a  good  two  hundred  yards  ahead.  He 
hesitated  ;  seemed  to  stop  for  a  moment.  Bear 
diminished  the  space  by  a  good  dozen  yards — and  then 
man  doubled. 

"  Getting  pumped,"  said  Ladds  the  critical.  Then  he 
too  dismounted,  and   stood    beside  the  younger  man, 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  I9 

giving  the  reins  of  both  horses  to  one  of  the  Mexicans. 
•<  Mustn't  let  Grisly  claw  the  poor  devil,"  he  murmured. 

*'  Let  me  bring  him  down,  Tommy." 

"  Bring  him  down,  young  un." 

The  greasers  looked  on  and  laughed.  It  would  have 
been  to  them  a  pleasant  termination  to  the  "  play  "  had 
Bruin  clawed  the  man.  Neither  hunter  nor  quarry  saw 
the  party  clustered  together  on  the  rising  ground  on 
which  the  track  ran,  Man  saw  nothing  but  the  ground 
over  which  he  flew  ;  bear  saw  nothing  but  man  before 
him.  The  doubling  manoeuvre  was,  however,  the  one 
thing  needed  to  bring  Grisly  within  easy  reach.  Faster 
flew  the  man,  but  it  was  the  last  flight  of  despair  ;  had  the 
others  been  near  enough  they  would  have  seen  the  cold 
drops  of  agony  standing  on  his  forehead  ;  they  would 
have  caught  his  panting  breath,  they  would  have  heard 
his  muttered  prayer. 

"  Let  him  have  it !  "  growled  Ladds. 

It  was  time.  Grisly,  swinging  along  with  leisurely  step, 
rolling  his  great  head  from  side  to  side  in  time  with  the  ca- 
dence of  his  footfall — one  roll  to  every  half-dozen  strides, 
like  a  fat  German  over  a  trots-temps  waltz,  suddenly  lifted  his 
face,  and  roared.  Then  the  man  shrieked  :  then  the  bear 
stopped,  and  raised  himself  for  a  moment,  pawing  in  the 
air  ;  then  he  dropped  again,  and  rushed  with  quickened 
step  upon  his  foe  ;  then — but  then — ping  !  one  shot.  It 
has  struck  Grisly  in  the  shoulder  ;  he  stops  with  a  roar. 

"  Good,  young  un  ! "  said  Ladds,  bringing  piece  to 
shoulder  This  time  Grisly  roars  no  more.  He  rolls  over. 
He  is  shot  to  the  heart,  and  is  dead. 

The  other  participator  in  this  chasse  of  two  heard  the 
crack  of  the  rifles.  His  senses  were  growing  dazed  with 
fear  ;  he  did  not  stop,  he  ran  on  still,  but  with  trembling 
knees  and  outstretched  hands  ;  and  when  he  came  to  a 
heap  of  shingle  and  sand — one  of  those  left  over  from  the 
old  surface-mines — he  fell  headlong  on  the  pile  with  a  cry, 
and  could  not  rise.     The  two  who  shot  the  bear  ran 


20  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

across  the  ground — he  lay  almost  at  their  feet — to  secure 
their  prey.  After  them,  at  a  leisurely  pace,  strode  John, 
the  servant.     The  greasers  stayed  behind  and  laughed. 

*  Grisly "s  dead,  said  Tommy,  pulling  out  his  knife. 
"  Steak  >  ■' 

"  No  ;  skin,"  cried  the  younger.  •*  Let  me  take  his 
skin  John,  we  will  have  the  beast  skinned.  You  can  get 
some  steaks  cut.     Where  is  the  man  ?  ' 

They  found  him  lying  on  his  face,  unable  to  move. 

"  Now,  old  man, '  said  the  young  fellow  cheerfully, 
"might  as  well  sit  up,  you  know,  if  you  can't  stand. 
Bruin  s  gone  to  the  happy  hunting-grouirds.*' 

The  man  sat  up,  as  desired,  and  tried  to  take  a  compre- 
hensive view  of  the  position. 

Jack  handed  him  a  flask,  from  which  he  took  a  long 
pull.  Then  he  got  up,  and  somewhat  ostentatiously  began 
to  smooth  down  the  legs  of  his  trousers. 

He  was  a  thin  man,  about  five  and  forty  years  of  age  ; 
he  wore  an  irregular  and  patchy  kind  of  beard,  which 
flourished  exceedingly  on  certain  square  half-inches  of 
chin  and  cheek,  and  was  as  thin  as  grass  at  Aden  on  the 
intervening  spaces.  He  had  no  boots,  but  a  sort  of 
moccasins,  the  lightness  of  which  enabled  him  to  show  his 
heels  to  the  bear  for  so  long  a  time.  His  trousers  might 
have  been  of  a  rough  tweed,  or  they  might  have  been 
black  cloth,  because  grease,  many  drenchings,  the  buffet- 
ting  of  years,  and  the  holes  into  which  they  were  worn, 
had  long  deprived  them  of  their  original  colour  and 
brilliancy.  Above  the  trousers  he  wore  a  tattered  flannel 
shirt,  the  right  arm  of  which,  nearly  torn  to  pieces,  re 
vealed  a  tattooed  limb,  which  was  strong  although  thin  '• 
ihe  buttons  had  long  ago  vanished  from  the  front  of  the 
garment  ;  thorns  picturesquely  replaced  them.  He  wore 
J.  red-cotton  hankerchief  round  his  neck,  a  round  felt  hat 
was  on  his  head  ;  this,  like  the  trousers,  had  lost  its 
pristine  colour,  and  by  dint  of  years  and  weather,  its 
stiffness  too.    To  prevent  the  hat  from  flapping  in  his  eyes, 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  21 

its  possessor  had  pinned  it  up  with  thorns   in   the  front. 

Necessity  is  the  mother  of  invention  :  there  is  nothing 
morally  wrong  in  the  use  of  thorns  where  other  men  use 
studs,  diamond  pins,  and  such  gauds  ;  and  the  effect  is 
picturesque.  The  stranger,  in  fact,  was  a  law  unto  him- 
self. He  had  no  coat  ;  the  rifle  of  Californian  civilisation 
was  missing  ;  there  was  no  sign  of  knife  or  revolver  ;  and 
the  only  encumbrance,  if  that  was  any,  to  the  lightness  of 
his  flight  was  a  small  wooden  box  strapped  round  tightly, 
and  hanging  at  his  back  by  means  of  a  steel  chain,  grown 
a  little  rusty  where  it  did  not  rub  against  his  neck  and 
shoulders. 

He  sat  up  and  winked  involuntarily  with  both  eyes. 
This  was  the  effect  of  present  bewilderment  and  late 
fear. 

Then  he  looked  round  him,  after,  as  before  explained, 
a  few  moments  of  assiduous  leg- smoothing,  which,  as 
stated  above,  looked  ostentatious,  but  was  really  only 
nervous  agitation.  Then  he  rose,  and  saw  Grisly  lying  in 
a  heap  a  few  yards  off.  He  walked  over  with  a  grave 
face,  and  looked  at  him. 

When  Henri  Balafre,  Due  de  Guise,  saw  Coligny  lying 
dead  at  his  feet,  he  is  said — only  it  is  a  wicked  lie — to 
have  kicked  the  body  of  his  murdered  father's  enemy. 
When  Henri  III.  of  France,  ten  years  later,  saw  Balafrt^ 
dead  at  his  feet,  he  did  kick  the  lifeless  body,  with  a 
wretched  joke.  The  king  was  a  cur.  My  American  was 
not.  He  stood  over  Bruin  with  a  look  in  his  eyes  which 
betokened  respect  for  fallen  greatness  and  sympathy  with 
bad  luck.  Grisly  would  have  been  his  victor,  but  for  the 
chance  which  brought  him  within  reach  of  a  friendly  rifle. 

"  A  near  thing,"  he  said.  "  Since  I've  been  in  this  dog- 
goned  country  I've  had  one  or  two  near  things,  but  this 
was  the  nearest.  " 

The  greasers  stood  round  the  body  of  the  bear,  and 
the  English  servant  was  giving  directions  for  skinning  the 
beast. 


22  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  And  which  of  you  gentlemen,"  he  went  on  with  a 
nasal  twang  more  pronoucced  than  before — perhaps  with 
more  emphasis  on  the  word  *'  gentlemen  "  than  was 
altogether  required — "  which  of  you  gentlemen  was  good 
enough  to  shoot  the  critter  ?  " 

The  English  servant,  who  was,  like  his  master.  Captain 
Ladds,  a  man  of  few  words,  pointed  to  the  young  man, 
who  stood  close  by  with  the  other  leader  of  the  expedi- 
tion. 

The  man  snatched  from  the  jaws  of  death  took 
off  his  shaky  thorn-beset  felt,  and  solemnly  held  out 
his  hand. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  know  your  name,  and  you  do 
not  know  mine.  If  you  did  you  would  not  be  much  hap- 
pier, because  it  is  not  a  striking  name.  If  you'll  oblige 
me,  sir,  by  touching  that  " — he  meant  his  right  hand — 
"  we  shall  be  brothers.  All  that's  mine  shall  be  yours.  I 
do  not  ask  you,  sir,  to  reciprocate.  All  that's  mine,  sir, 
when  I  get  anything,  shall  be  yours.  At  present,  sir,  there 
is  nothing  ;  but  I've  Luck  behind  me.  Shake  hands,  sir. 
Once  a  mouse  helped  a  lion,  sir.  It's  in  a  book.  I  am 
the  mouse,  sir,  and  you  are  the  lion.  Sir,  my  name  is 
Gilead  P.  Beck." 

The  young  man  laughed  and  shook  hands  with  him. 

"  I  only  fired  the  first  shot,"  he  explaimed.  "  My  friend 
here  " 

"  No  ;  first  shot  disabled — hunt  finished  then — Grisly 
out  of  the  running.  Glad  you're  not  clawed — unpleasant 
to  be  clawed.  Young  un  did  it.  No  thanks.  Tell  us 
where  we  are." 

Mr.  Gilead  P.  Beck,  catching  the  spirit  of  the  situation, 
told  them  where  they  were,  approximately.  "  This,"  he 
said,  "  is  Patrick's  Camp  ;  at  least,  it  was.  The  Pioneers 
of  '49  could  tell  you  a  good  deal  about  Patrick's  Camp. 
It  was  here  that  Patrick  kept  his  store.  In  those  old  days 
— they're  gone  now — if  a  man  wanted  to  buy  a  blanket, 
that  article,  sir,  was  put  into  one  scale,  and  weighed  down 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  23 

with  gold-dust  in  the  other.  Same  with  a  pair  of  boots  ; 
same  with  a  pound  of  raisins.  Patrick  might  have  died 
rich,  sir,  but  he  didn't — none  of  the  pioneers  did — so 
he  died  poor ;  and  died  in  his  boots,  too,  like  most  of 
the  lot." 

"  Not  much  left  of  the  camp." 

"  No,  sir,  not  much.  The  mine  gave  out.  Then  they 
moved  up  the  hills,  where,  I  conclude,  you  gentlemen  are 
on  your  way.  Prospecting  likely.  The  new  town,  called 
Empire  City,  ought  to  be  an  hour  or  so  up  the  track.  I 
was  trying  to  find  my  way  there  when  I  met  with  old 
Grisly.  Perhaps  if  I  had  let  him  alone  he  would 
have  let  me  alone.  But  I  blazed  at  him,  and,  sir,  I 
missed  him  ;  then  he  shadowed  me.  And  the  old  rifle's 
gone  at  last." 

"  How  long  did  the  chase  last  ?  " 

"  I  should  say,  sir,  forty  days  and  forty  nights,  or 
near  about.  And  you  gentlemen  air  going  to  Empire 
City  ?  " 

"  We  are  going  anywhere.  Perhaps,  for  the  present, 
you   had   better  join  us." 

II. 

Mr,  Gilead  p.  Beck,  partly  recovered  from  the  shock 
caused  to  his  nerves  by  the  revengeful  spirit  of  the  bear, 
and  in  no  way  discomfitted  by  any  sense  of  false  shame 
as  to  his  ragged  appearance,  marched  beside  the  two 
Englishmen.  It  was  characteristic  of  his  nationality  that 
he  regarded  the  greasers  with  contempt,  and  that  he 
joined  the  two  gentlemen  as  if  he  belonged  to  their  grade 
and  social  rank.  An  Englishman  picked  up  in  such  rags 
and  duds  would  have  shrunk  abashed  to  the  rear,  or  he 
would  have  apologised  for  his  tattered  condition,  or  he 
would  have  begged  for  some  garments — any  garments — 
to  replace  his  own.  Mr.  Beck  had  no  such  feeling.  He 
strode  along  with  a  swinging  slouch,  which  covered  the 


24  THE   GOLDEN   BUTUERFLY. 

ground  as  rapidly  as  the  step  of  the  horses.  The  wind 
blew  his  rags  about  his  long  and  lean  figure  as  pictur- 
esquely as  if  he  were  another  Autolycus.  He  was  as  full 
of  talk  as  that  worthy,  and  as  lightsome  of  spirit,  despite 
the  solemn  gravity  of  his  face.  I  once  saw  a  poem — I 
think  in  the  Spectator — on  Artemus  Ward,  in  which  the 
bard  apostrophised  the  light-hearted  merriment  of  the 
Western  American  ;  a  very  fortunate  thing  to  say,  be- 
cause the  Western  American  is  externally  a  most  serious 
person,  never  merry,  never  witty,  but  always  humoious. 
Mr.  Beck  was  quite  grave,  though  at  the  moment  as  hap- 
py as  that  other  grave  and  thoughtful  person  who  has 
made  a  name  in  the  literature  of  humour — Panurge — 
when  he  escaped  half-roasted  from  the  Turk's  Serai. 

"  I  ought,"  he  said,  "  to  sit  down  and  cry,  like  the  girl 
on  the  prairie." 

"  Why  ought  you  to  cry  ?  " 

"  I  guess  I  ought  to  cry  because  I've  lost  my  rifle  and 
everything  except  my  Luck  " — here  he  pulled  at  the  steel 
chain — "in  that  darned  long  stern  chase." 

"  You  can  easily  get  a  new  rifle,"  said  Jack. 

**With  dollars,"  interrupted  Mr.  Beck.  "As  for  them, 
there's  not  a  dollar  left — nary  a  red  cent ;  only  my 
Luck." 

"  And  what  is  your  Luck  ?  " 

« That,"  said  Mr.  Beck,  "  I  will  tell  you  by-and-by. 
Perhaps  it's  your  Luck,  too,  young  boss,"  he  added,  think- 
ing of  a  shot  as  fortunate  to  himself  as  William  Tell's  was 
to  his  son. 

He  pulled  the  box  attached  to  the  steel  chain  round  to 
the  front,  and  looked  at  it  tenderly.  It  was  safe,  and  he 
heaved  a  sigh. 

The  way  wound  up  a  valley — a  road  marked  only,  as 
has  been  said,  by  deep  ruts  along  its  course.  Behind  the 
travellers  the  evening  sun  was  slowly  sinking  in  the  west ; 
before  them  the  peaks  of  the  Sierra  lifted  their  heads, 
coloured  purple  in  the  evening  light ;  ancj  on  ^ith^r  hand 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  25 

rose  the  hill-sides,  with  their  dark  foliage  in  alternate 
"splashes  "  of  golden  light  and  deepest  shade. 

It  wanted  but  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  sunset  when  Mr. 
Gilead  P.  Beck  pointed  to  a  township  which  suddenly  ap- 
peared, lying  at  their  very  feet. 

"  Empire  City,  I  reckon.' 

A  good -sized  town  of  wooden  houses.  They  were  all 
alikei  and  of  the  same  build  as  that  affected  by  the  archi- 
tects of  doll's  houses  ;  that  is  to  say,  they  were  of  one 
story  only,  had  a  door  in  the  middle,  and  a  window  on 
either  side.  They  were  so  small,  also,  that  they  looked 
veritable  dolls'  houses. 

There  were  one  or  two  among  them  of  more  preten- 
tious appearance,  and  of  several  stories.  These  were 
the  hotels,  billiard-saloons,  bars,  and  gambling-houses. 

*'  It's  a  place  bound  to  advance,  sir,'"  said  Mr.  Beck 
proudly.  *■  Empire  City,  when  I  first  saw  it,  v/hich  is  two 
years  ago,  was  only  two  years  old.  It  is  only  in  our  coun- 
try that  a  great  city  springs  up  in  a  day.  Empire  City 
will  be  the  Chicago  of  the  West." 

'•'I  see  a  city,'  said  Captain  Ladd  ;  "can't  see  the 
people." 

It  was  certainly  curious.  There  was  not  a  soul  in  the 
streets  ;  there  was  no  smoke  from  the  chimneys  ;  there  was 
neither  carts  nor  horses  ;  there  was  not  the  least  sign  of 
occupation. 

Mr.  Gilead  P.  Beck  whistled. 

"  All  gone,"  he  said.     *  Guess  the  city's  busted  up.' 

He  pushed  aside  the  brambles  which  grew  over  what 
had  been  a  path  leading  to  the  place,  and  hurried  down. 
The  others  followed  him,  and  rode  into  the  tov/n. 

It  was  deserted.  The  doors  of  the  houses  were  open, 
and  if  you  looked  in  you  might  see  the  rough  furniture 
which  the  late  occupants  disdained  to  carry  away  with 
them  The  two  Englishmen  dismounted,  gave  their  reins 
to  the  servants,  and  began  to  look  about  them. 

Th'i  descendants  of  Og,  king  of  Bashan,  have  left  their 


26  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

houses  in  black  basalt,  dotted  about  the  lava-fields  of  the 
Hauran,  to  witness  how  they  lived.  In  the  ontposts  of 
desert  stations  of  the  East,  the  Roman  soldiers  have  left 
their  barracks  and  their  baths,  their  jokes  written  on  the 
wall,  and  their  names,  to  show  how  they  passed  away  the 
weary  hours  of  garrison  duty.  So  the  miners  who  found- 
ed Empire  City,  and  deserted  it  en  masse  when  the  gold 
gave  out,  left  behind  them  marks  by  which  future  ex- 
plorers of  the  ruins  should  know  what  manner  of  men 
once  dwelt  there.  The  billiard  saloon  stood  open  with 
swinging  doors ;  the  table  was  still  there,  the  balls  lay 
about  on  the  table  and  the  floor  ;  the  cues  stood  in  the 
rack  ;  the  green  cloth,  mildewed,  covered  the  table, 

*'  Tommy,"  said  the  younger,  '*  we  will  have  a  game  to- 
night." 

The  largest  building  in  the  place  had  been  an  hotel  It 
had  two  stories,  and  was,  like  the  rest  of  the  houses,  built 
of  wood,  with  a  verandah  along  the  front.  The  upper 
story  looked  as  if  it  had  been  recently  inhabited  ;  that  is, 
the  shutters  were  not  dropping  off  the  hinges,  nor  were 
they  flapping  to  and  fro  in  the  breeze. 

But  the  town  was  deserted  ;  the  evening  breeze  blew 
chilly  up  its  vacant  streets  \  life  and  sound  had  gone  out 
of  the  place. 

"  I  feel  cold,"  said  Jack,  looking  about  him. 

They  went  round  to  the  back  of  the  hotel.  Old  iron 
cog-wheels  lay  rusting  on  the  ground  with  remains  of 
pumps.  In  the  heart  of  the  town  behind  the  hotel 
stretched  an  open  space  of  ground  covered  with  piles  of 
shingle  and  intersected  with  ditches. 

Mr.  Beck  sat  down  and  adjusted  one  of  the  thorns  which 
served  as  a  temporary  shirt-stud. 

*•  Two  years  ago,"  he  said,  "  there  were  ten  thousand 
miners  here  ;  now  there  isn't  one.  I  thought  we  should 
find  a  choice  hotel,  with  a  little  monty  or  poker  after- 
wards. Now  no  one  left  i  nothing  but  a  Chinaman  or 
two." 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  27 

"  How  do  you  know  there  are  Chinamen  ?  " 

"  See  those  stones  ?  ' 

He  pointed  to  some  great  boulders,  from  three  to  six 
feet  in  diameter.  Some  operation  of  a  mystical  kind  had 
been  performed  upon  them,  for  they  were  jagged  and 
chipped  as  if  they  had  been  filed  and  cut  into  shape  by  a 
sculptor  who  had  been  once  a  dentist  and  still  loved  the 
profession. 

"  The  miners  picked  the  bones  of  those  rocks,  but  they 
never  pick  quite  clean.  Then  the  Chinamen  come  and 
finish  off.  Gentlemen,  it's  a  special  Providence  that  you 
picked  me  up.  I  don't  altogether  admire  the  way  in 
which  that  special  Providence  was  played  up  to  in  the 
matter  of  the  bar ;  but  a  Christian  without  a  revolver 
alone  among  twenty  Chinamen  ' 

He  stopped  and  shrugged  his  shoulders, 

^'-  They'd  have  got  my  Luck.  '  he  concluded. 

"  Chief,  I  don't  like  it;  said  the  younger  man.  "  Its 
ghostly.  It's  a  town  of  dead  men.  As  soon  as  it  is  dark 
the  ghosts  will  rise  and  walk  about — play  billiards,  I  ex- 
pect.    What  shall  we  do  ?  " 

"  Hotel,  growled  the  chief.  **  Sleep  on  floor — sit  on 
chairs — eat  off  a  table.' ' 

They  entered  the  hotel. 

A  most  orderly  bar  :  the  glasses  there  :  the  bright- 
coloured  bottles  ;  two  or  three  casks  of  Bourbon  whisky  ; 
the  counter  ;  the  very  dice  on  the  counter  with  which  the 
bar-keeper  used  to  -'go'  the  miners  for  drinks.  How 
things  at  once  so  necessary  to  civilised  life  and  so 
portable  as  dice  were  left  behind,  it  is  impossible  to 
explain. 

Everything  was  there  except  the  drink.  The  greasers 
tried  the  casks  and  examined  the  bottles.  Emptiness. 
A  miner  may  leave  behind  him  the  impedimenta, 
but  the  real  necessaries  of  life — rifle,  revolver,  bowie, 
and  cards — he  takes  with  him.  And  as  for  the  drink, 
he  carries  that  away  too,  for  greater  safety,  mside  himself. 


28  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

The  English  servant  looked  round  him  and  smiled 
superior. 

"  No  tap  for  beer,  as  usual,  sir,"  he  said.  "  These  poor 
Californians  has  much  to  learn." 

Mr.  Gilead  P.  Beck  looked  round  mournfully. 

*'  Everything  gone  but  the  fixin's,"  he  sighed.  "  There 
used  to  be  good  beds,  where  there  wasn't  more'n 
two  at  once  in  them  ;  and  there  used  to  be  such  a 
crowd  around  this  bar  as  you  would  not  find  nearer'n  St. 
Louis  City. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Jack,  holding  up  his  hand.  There  were 
steps. 

Mr,  Beck  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"  Chinamen,  likely.  If  there's  a  row,  gentlemen,  give 
me  something,  if  it's  only  a  toothpick,  to  chime  in  with. 
But  that's  not  a  Chinese  step  ;  that's  an  Englishman's. 
He  wears  boots,  but  they  are  not  miner's  boots  ;  he 
walks  firm  and  slow,  like  all  Englishmen  ;  he  is  not  in  a 
hurry,  like  our  folk.  And  who  but  an  Englishman  would 
be  found  staying  behind  in  the  Empire  City  when  it's 
gone  to  pot?" 

The  footsteps  came  down  the  stairs. 

"  Most  unhandsome  of  a  ghost,"  said  the  younger  man, 
"to  walk  before  midnight.' 

The  producer  of  the  footsteps  appeared. 

"  Told  you  he  was  an  Englishman  !  "  cried  Mr.  Beck. 

Indeed,  there  was  no  mistaking  the  nationality  of  the 
man,  in  spite  of  his  dress,  which  was  cosmopolitan.  He 
wore  boots,  but  not,  as  the  quick  ear  of  the  American  told 
him,  the  great  boots  of  the  miner  ;  he  had  on  a  flannel 
shirt  with  a  red  silk  belt  ;  he  wore  a  sort  of  blanket 
thrown  back  from  his  shoulders  ;  and  he  had  a  broad  ielt 
hat.     Of  course  he  carried  arms,  but  they  were  not  visible. 

He  was  a  man  of  middle  height,  with  clear  blue  eyes  ; 
the  perfect  complexion  of  an  Englishman  of  good  stock 
and  in  complete  health  ;  a  brown  beard,  long  and  rather 
curly,  streaked  with  here  and  there  a  grey  hair ;  square 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  29 

and  clear-cut  nostrils  ;  and  a  mouth  which,  though  not 
much  of  it  was  visible,  looked  as  if  it  would  easily  smile, 
might  readily  become  tender,  and  would  certainly  find  it 
difficult  to  be  stern.  He  might  be  any  age,  from  five  and 
thirty  to  five  and  forty. 

The  greasers  fell  back  and  grouped  about  the  door. 
The  questions  which  might  be  raised  had  no  interest  for 
them.  The  two  leaders  stood  together  ;  and  Mr.  Gilead 
P.  Beck,  rolling  an  empty  keg  to  their  side,  turned  it  up 
and  sat  down  with  the  air  of  a  judge,  looking  from  one 
party  to  the  other. 

'*  Englishmen,  I  see,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  Ye-yes,"  said  Ladds,  not,  as  Mr.  Beck  expected, 
immediately  holding  out  his  hand  for  the  stranger  to 
grasp. 

*'  You  have  probably  lost  your  way  ? " 

"Been  hunting.  Working  round — San  Francisco.  Fol- 
lowed track  ;  accident  ;  got  here.  Your  hotel,  perhaps  ? 
Fine  situation,  but  lonely." 

"  Not  a  ghost,  then,"  murmured  the  other,  with  a  look 
of  temporary  disappointment 

"  If  you  will  come  upstairs  to  my  quarters,  I  may  be 
able  to  make  you  comfortable  for  the  night.  Your  party 
will  accommodate  themselves  without  our  help.' 

He  referred  to  the  greasers,  who  had  already  begun 
their  preparations  for  spending  a  happy  night.  When  he 
led  the  way  up  the  stairs,  he  was  followed,  not  only  by  the 
two  gentlemen  he  had  invited,  but  also  by  the  ragamuffin 
hunter,  miner,  or  adventurer,  and  by  the  valet,  who  con- 
ceived it  his  duty  to  follow  his  master. 

He  lived,  this  hermit,  in  one  of  the  small  bed-rooms  of 
the  hotel,  which  he  had  converted  into  a  sitting-room.  It 
contained  a  single  rocking-chair  and  a  table.  There  was 
also  a  shelf,  which  served  for  a  sideboard,  and  a  curtain 
under  the  shelf,  which  acted  as  a  cupboard. 

"  You  see  my  den,"  he  said.  "  I  came  here  a  year  or 
so  ago  by  accident,  like  yourselves.     I  found  the  place 


3©  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY, 

deserted.  I  liked  the  solitude,  the  scenery,  whatever  you 
like,  and  I  stayed  here.  You  are  the  only  visitors  I  have 
had  in  a  year," 

"  Chinamen  ? "  said  Mr.  Gilead  P.  Beck. 

"Well,  Chinamen,  of  course.  But  only  two  of  them. 
They  take  turns,  at  forty  dollars  a  month,  to  cook  my  din- 
ners. And  there  is  a  half-caste,  who  does  not  mind  run- 
ning down  to  Sacramento  when  I  want  anything.  And 
so,  you  see,  I  make  out  pretty  well." 

He  opened  the  window,  and  blew  a  whistle. 

In  two  minutes  a  Chinaman  came  tumbling  up  the 
stairs.  His  inscrutable  face  expressed  all  the  conflicting 
passions  of  humanity  at  once — ambition,  vanity,  self 
respect,  humour,  satire,  avarice,  resignation,  patience, 
revenge,  meekness,  long-suffering,  remembrance,  and  a 
thousand  others.  No  Aryan  comes  within  a  hundred 
miles  of  it. 

"  Dinner  as  soon  as  you  can,"  said  his  master. 

"  Ayah  !  can  do,"  replied  the  Celestial.  "  What  time 
you  wantchee  ? 

"  As  soon  as  you  can.     Half  an  hour." 

"  Can  do.  My  no  have  got  cully-powder.  Have 
makee  finish.     Have  got  ?  " 

"  Look  for  some  ;  make  Achow  help." 

"How  can?  N,b  long  his  pidgin.  He  no  helpee. 
B'long  my  pidgin  makee  cook  chow-chow.  Ayah  ! 
Achow  have  go  makee  cheat  over  Mexican  man.  Makee 
play  cards  all  same  euchre." 

In  fact,  on  looking  out  of  the  window,  the  other  Celestial 
was  clearly  visible,  manipulating  a  pack  of  cards  and 
apparently  inviting  the  Mexicans  to  a  friendly  game,  in 
which  there  could  be  no  deception. 

Then  Ladds'  conscience  smote  him. 

"  Beg  pardon.  Should  have  seen.  Make  remark  about 
hotel.     Apologise." 

"  He  means,"  said  the  other,  "  that  he  was  a  terrible 
great  fool  not  to  see  that  you  are  a  gentleman." 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERELY.  3t 

Ladds  nodded. 

"  Let  me  introduce  our  party,"  the  speaker  went  on, 
•'  This  is  our  esteemed  friend  Mr.  Gilead  P.  Beck,  whom 
we  caught  in  a  bear-hunt " 

"  Bar  behind,"  said  Mr.  Beck. 

"  This  is  Captain  Ladds,  of  the  35th  Dragoons." 

"  Ladds,"  said  Ladds.  "  Nibs,  cocoa-nibs — pure  aroma 
— best  breakfast-digester — blessing  to  mothers — perfect 
fragrance." 

"  His  name  is  Ladds  ;  and  he  wishes  to  communicate  to 
you  the  fact  that  he  is  the  son  of  the  man  who  made  an 
immense  fortune — immense.  Tommy  ?" 

Ladds  nodded. 

"  By  a  crafty  compound  known  as  '  Ladds'  Patent  Anti- 
Dyspeptic  Cocoa.'  This  is  Ladd's  servant,  John  Boimer, 
the  best  servant  who  ever  put  his  leg  across  pig-skin  ; 
and  my  name  is  Roland  Dunquerque.  People  generally 
call  me  Jack  ;  I  don't  know  why,  but  they  do." 

Their  host  bowed  to  each,  including  the  servant,  who 
coloured  with  pleasure  at  Jack's  description  of  him  ;  but 
he  shook  hands  with  Ladds. 

"  One  of  ours,"  he  said.  "  My  name  is  Lawrence  Colqu- 
houn.  I  sold  out  before  you  joined.  I  came  here  as  you 
see.  And — now,  gentlemen,  I  think  I  hear  the  first 
sounds  of  dinner.  Boimer — you  will  allow  me,  Ladds  ? — 
you  will  find  claret  and  champagne  behind  that  curtain. 
Pardon  a  hermit's  fare.  I  think  they  have  laid  out  such  a 
table  as  the  wilderness  can  boast  in  the  next  room." 

The  dinner  was  not  altogether  what  a  man  might  order 
at  the  Junior  United,  but  it  was  good.  There  was  veni- 
son, there  was  a  curry,  there  was  some  mountain  quail, 
there  was  claret,  and  there  was  champagne — both  good, 
especially  the  claret.     Then  there  was  coffee. ' 

The  Honourable  Roland  Dunquerque,  whom  we  will 
call  in  future,  what  everybody  always  called  him.  Jack, 
ate  and  drank  like  Friar  John.  The  keen  mountain  air 
multiplied  his  normal  twist  by  ten.     Mr.  Gilead  P.  Beck, 


32  THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

who  sat  down  to  dinner  perfectly  unabashed  by  his  rags, 
was  good  as  a  trencherman,  but  many  plates  behind  the 
young  Englishman.  Mr.  Lawrence  Colquhoun,  their  host, 
went  on  talking  almost  as  if  they  were  in  London,  only 
now  and  then  he  found  himself  behind  the  world.  It  was 
his  ignorance  of  the  last  Derby,  the  allusion  to  an  old  and 
half-forgotten  story,  perhaps  his  use  of  little  phrases — not 
slang  phrases,  but  those  delicately-shaded  terms  which 
imply  knowledge  of  current  things — which  showed  him 
to  have  been  out  of  London  and  Paris  for  more  than  one 
season. 

"  Four  years,"  he  said,  "  since  I  left  England." 

"  But  you  will  come  back  to  it  again  ? " 

"  I  think  not." 

"  Better,''  said  Jack,  whose  face  was  a  little  flushed  with 
the  wine.  "  Much  better.  Robinson  Crusoe  always 
wanted  to  get  home  again.  So  did  Selkirk  So  did 
Philip  Quarles," 

Then  the  host  produced  cigars.  Later  on,  brandy-and- 
water. 

The  brandy  and  water  made  Mr.  Gilead  P.  Beck,  who 
found  himself  a  good  deal  crowded  out  of  the  conversa- 
tion, insist  on  having  his  share.  He  placed  his  square 
box  on  the  table,  and  loosed  the  straps. 

"  Let  me  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  the  story  of  my  Luck.  I 
was  in  Sonora  City,"  he  begun,  patting  his  box  affection- 
ately, "  after  the  worst  three  months  I  ever  had  ;  and  I 
went  around  trying  to  borrow  a  few  dollars.  I  got  no 
dollars,  but  I  got  free  drinks — so  many  free  drinks,  that  at 
last  I  lay  down  in  the  street  and  went  to  sleep.  Wall, 
gentlemen,  I  suppose  I  walked  in  that  slumber  of  mine, 
for  when  I  woke  up  I  was  lying  a  mile  outside  the  town. 

I  also  entertained  angels  unawares,  for  at  my  head  there 
sat  an  Indian  woman.  She  was  as  wrinkled  an  old  squaw 
as  ever  shrieked  at  a  buryin'.  But  she  took  an  interest  in 
me.  She  took  that  amount  of  interest  in  me  that  she  told 
me  she  knew  of  gold.     And  then  she  led  me  by  the  hand, 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  33 

gentlemen,  that  aged  and  affectionate  old  squaw,  to  a 
place  not  far  from  the  roadside  ;  and  there,  lying  between 
two  rocks,  and  hidden  in  the  chaparelle,  glittering  in  the 
light,  was  this  bauble."  He  tapped  his  box.  "  I  did  not 
want  to  be  told  to  take  it.  I  wrapped  it  in  my  handkerchief 
and  carried  it  in  my  hand.  Then  she  led  me  back  to  the 
road  again.  '  Bad  luck  you  will  have,'  she  said  ;  '  but  it 
will  lead  to  good  luck  so  long  as  that  is  not  broken,  sold, 
given  away,  or  lost.'     Then  she  left  me,  and  here  it  is." 

He  opened  the  little  box.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
seen  but  a  mass  of  white  wool. 

"  Bad  luck  I  have  had.  Look  at  me,  gentlemen.  Adam 
was  not  more  destitute  when  the  garden-gates  were  shut 
on  him.     But  the  good  will  come,  somehow." 

He  removed  the  wool,  and,  behold,  a  miracle  of  nature  ! 
Two  thin  plates  of  gold  delicately  wrought  in  lines  and 
curious  chasing,  like  the  pattern  of  a  butterfly's  wing,  and 
of  the  exact  shape,  but  twice  as  large.  They  were  poised 
at  the  angle,  always  the  same,  at  which  the  insect  balances 
itself  about  a  flower.  They  were  set  in  a  small  piece  of 
quaintly  marked  quartz,  which  represented  the  body. 

"  A  golden  butterfly  !  " 

"  A  golden  butterfly,"  said  Mr.  Beck.  "  No  goldsmith 
made  this  butterfly.  It  came  from  Nature's  workshop. 
It  is  m"  Luck." 

"  And  If  the  buttex"fly  fall  and  break. 
Farewell  the  Luck  of  Gilead  Beck," 

said  Jack, 

'*  Thank  you,  sir.  That's  very  neat.  I'll  take  that,  sir, 
if  you  will  allow  me,  for  my  motto,  unless  you  want  it  for 
yourself." 

"  No,"  said  Jack  ;  "  I  have  one  already." 

"  If  this  golden  butterfly  fall  and  break, 
Farewell  the  Luck  of  Gilead  P.  Beck," 

repeated  the  owner  of  the  insect.  "  If  you  are  going  on, 
gentlemen,  to  San  Francisco,  I  hope  you  will  take  me  with 
you." 


34  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"  Coloquhoun,"  said  Ladds,  "  you  do  not  mean  to  stay 
by  yourself  ?  Much  better  come  with  us,  unless,  of 
course " 

Lying  on  the  table  was  a  piece  of  an  old  newspaper  in 
which  Jack  had  wrapped  something.  Ladds  saw  Colqu- 
houn  mechanically  take  up  the  paper,  read  it,  and  change 
color.  Then  he  looked  straight  before  him,  seeing  noth- 
ing, and  Ladds  stopped  speaking.  Then  he  smilled  in  a 
strange  far-off  way, 

"I  think  I  will  go  with  you,"  he  said. 

"Hear,  hear!"  cried  Jack.  "Selkirk  returns  to  the 
sound  of  the  church-going  bell." 

Ladds  refrained  from  looking  at  the  paper  in  search  of 
things  which  did  not  concern  himself,  but  he  perceived 
that  Colquhoun  had,  like  Hamlet,  seen  something.  There 
was^  in  fact,  an  announcement  in  the  fragment  which  great 
ly  interested  Lawrence  Colquhoun  : 

"  On  April  3,  by  the  Right  Rev.  the  Lord  Bishop  of 
Turk's  Island,  at  St.  George's  Hanover  Square,  Gabriel 
Cassilis,  of  etc.,  to  Victoria,  daughter  of  the  Late  Admiral 
Sir  Benbow  Pengelley,  K.C.B." 

In  the  morning  they  started,  Mr.  Beck  being  provided 
with  a  new  rig-out  of  a  rough  and  useful  kind. 

At  the  last  moment  one  of  the  Chinamen,  Leeching,  the 
cook,  besought  from  his  late  master,  as  a  parting  favour 
and  for  the  purpose  cf  self-protection,  the  gift  of  a  pistol, 
powder,  and  ball. 

Mr.  Colquhoun  gave  them  to  him,  thinking  it  a  small 
thing  after  two  years  of  faithful  service.  Then  Leeching, 
after  loading  his  pistol,  went  to  work  with  his  comrade  for 
an  hour  or  so. 

Presently,  Achow  being  on  his  knees  in  the  shingle,  the 
perfidious  Leeching  suddenly  cocked  his  pistol,  and  fired 
it  into  Achow's  right  ear,  so  that  he  fell  dead. 

By  this  lucky  accident  Leeching  became  sole  possessor 
of  the  little  pile  of  gold  which  he  and  the  defunct  Achow 
had  scraped  together  and  placed  in  a  cache. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  35 

He  proceeded  to  unearth  this  treasure,  put  together  his 
little  belongings,  and  started  on  the  road  to  San  Francisco 
with  a  smile  of  satisfaction. 

There  was  a  place  in  the  windings  of  the  road  where 
there  was  a  steep  bank.  By  the  worst  luck  in  the  world  a 
stone  slipped  and  fell  as  Leeching  passed  by.  The  stone 
by  itself,  would  not  have  mattered  much,  as  it  did  not 
fall  on  Leeching's  head  ;  but  with  it  fell  a  rattlesnake,  who 
was  sleeping  in  the  warmth  of  the  sun. 

Nothing  annoys  a  rattlesnake  more  than  to  be  disturbed 
in  his  sleep.  With  angry  mind  he  awoke,  looked  around, 
and  saw  the  Chinaman.  lUogically  connecting  him  with 
the  fall  of  the  stone,  he  made  for  him,  and,  before  Leech- 
ing knew  there  was  a  rattlesnake  anywhere  near  him,  bit 
him  in  the  calf. 

Leeching  sat  down  on  the  bank  and  realized  the  posi- 
tion. Being  a  fatalist,  he  did  not  murmur  ;  having  no 
conscience,  he  did  not  fear ;  having  no  faith,  he  did  not 
hope  ;  having  very  little  time,  he  made  no  testamentary 
dispositions.  In  point  of  fact,  he  speedily  curled  up  his 
legs  and  died. 

Then  the  deserted  Empire  City  was  deserted  indeed, 
for  there  was  not  even  a  Chinaman  left  in  it. 


CHAPTER  L 

JOSEPH    AND    HIS    BRETHREN. 

THE  largest  and  most  solid  of  all  the  substantial 
houses  in  Carnarvon  Square,  Bloomsbury,  is  Num- 
ber Fifteen,  which,  by  reason  of  its  corner  position 
(Mulgrave  Street  intersecting  it  at  right  angles  at  this 
point),  has  been  enabled  to  stretch  itself  out  at  the  back. 
It  is  a  house  which  a  man  who  wanted  to  convey  the  idea, 
of  a  solid  income  without  ostentation  or  attempt  at  fashion 
would  find  the  very  thing  to  assist  his  purpose.  The 
ladies  of  such  a  house  would  not  desire  to  belong  to  the 


36  THEi   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

world  farther  west ;  they  would  respect  the  Church,  law, 
and  medicine  ;  they  would  look  on  the  City  with  favour- 
able eyes  when  it  was  represented  by  a  partner  in  an  old 
firm  ;  they  would  have  sound  notions  of  material  comfort; 
they  would  read  solid  books,  and  would  take  their  pleas- 
ure calmly.  One  always,  somehow,  in  looking  at  a  house 
wonders  first  of  what  sort  its  women  are.  There  were, 
however,  no  women  at  Number  Fifteen  at  all,  except  the 
maids.  Its  occupants  consisted  of  three  brothers,  all  un- 
married. They  were  named  respectively  Cornelius, 
Humphrey,  and  Joseph  Jagenal.  Cornelius  and  Humph- 
rey were  twins.  Joseph  was  their  junior  by  ten  years. 
Cornelius  and  Humphrey  were  fifty — Joseph  was  forty. 
People  who  did  not  know  this  thought  that  Joseph  was 
fifey  and  his  brethren  forty. 

When  the  Venerable  the  Archdeacon  of  Market  Basing, 
the  well-known  author  of  Sermons  on  the  Duty  of  Tithe- 
Offerings,  the  Lesbia  of  Catullus,  and  a  Treatise  on  the 
Right  Use  of  the  Anapcest  in  greek  Iambic  Verse,  died,  it 
was  found  that  he  had  bequeathed  his  little  savings,  worth 
altogether  about  ;i^5oo  a  year,  to  his  three  sons  in  the 
following  proportions  :  the  twins,  he  said,  possessed 
genius  ;  they  would  make  their  mark  in  the  world,  but 
they  must  be  protected.  They  received  the  yearly  sum  of 
jQ2oo  apiece,  and  it  was  placed  in  the  hands  of  trustees  to 
prevent  their  losing  it  ;  the  younger  was  to  have  the  rest, 
without  trustees,  because,  his  father  said,  "  Joseph  is  a  dull 
boy  and  will  keep  it."  It  was  a  wise  distribution  of  the 
money.  Cornelius,  then  nineteen,  left  Oxford  immediate- 
ly, and  went  to  Heidelberg,  where  he  called  himself  a 
poet,  studied  metaphysics,  drank  beer,  and  learned  to 
fence.  Humphrey,  for  his  part,  deserted  Cambridge— 
their  father  having  chosen  that  they  should  not  be  rivals— 
and  announced  his  intention  of  devoting  his  life  to  Art. 
He  took  up  his  residence  in  Rome.  Joseph  stayed  at 
school,  having  no  other  choice.  When  the  boy  was  sixteen, 
his  guardians  articled  him  to  a  solicitor  Joseph  was  dull. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  37 

but  he  was  methodical,  exact,  and  endowed  with  a  reten- 
tive memory.  He  had  also  an  excellent  manner,  and  the 
"  appearance  of  age,"  as  port  wine  advertisers  say,  before 
he  was  out  of  his  articles.  At  twenty-five,  Joseph  Jagenal 
was  a  partner  ;  at  thirty-five,  he  was  the  working  partner  ; 
at  forty,  he  was  the  senior  partner  in  the  great  Lincoln's- 
Inn  firm  of  Shaw,  Fairlight,  and  Jagenal,  the  confidential 
advisers  of  as  many  respectable  county  people  as  any  firm 
in  London. 

When  he  was  twenty-five,  and  became  a  partner,  the 
brethren  returned  to  England  simultaneously,  and  were 
good  enough  to  live  with  him  and  upon  him.  They  had 
their  ;;^2oo  a  year  each,  and  expensive  tastes.  Joseph,  who 
had  made  a  thousand  for  his  share  the  first  year  of  his 
admission  to  the  firm,  had  no  expensive  tastes,  and  a  pro- 
found respect  for  genius.  He  took  in  the  twins  joyfully, 
and  they  stayed  with  him.  When  his  senior  partner  died, 
and  Mr.  Fairlight  retired,  so  that  Joseph's  income  was 
largely  increased,  they  made  him  move  from  Torrington 
Square,  where  the  houses  are  small,  to  Carnarvon  Square, 
and  regulated  his  household  for  him  on  the  broadest  and 
most  liberal  scale.  Needless  to  say,  no  part  of  the  little 
income,  which  barely  served  the  twins  with  pocket-money 
and  their  menus  plaisirs,  went  towards  the  housekeeping. 
Cornelius,  poet  and  philosopher,  superintended  the  dinner 
and  daily  interviewed  the  cook.  Humphrey,  the  devotee 
of  art,  who  furnished  the  rooms  according  to  the  latest 
designs  of  the  most  correct  taste,  was  in  command  of  the 
cellar.  Cornelius  took  the  best  sitting-room  for  himself, 
provided  it  with  books,  easy-chairs,  and  an  immense  siudy- 
table  with  countless  drawers.  He  called  it  carelessly  his 
Workshop.  The  room  on  the  first  floor  overlooking 
Mulgrave  Street,  and  consequently  with  a  north  aspect, 
was  appropriated  by  Humphrey.  He  called  it  his  Studio, 
and  furnished  it  in  character,  not  forgetting  the  easy- 
chairs.  Joseph  had  the  back  room  behind  the  dining- 
room  for  himself ;  it  was  not  called  a  study  or  a  library, 


38  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

but  Mr.  Joseph's  room.  He  sat  in  it  alone  every  evening, 
at  work.  There  was  also  a  drawing-room,  but  it  was 
never  used.  They  dined  together  at  half-past  six  :  Cor- 
nelius sat  at  the  head,  and  Humphrey  at  the  foot,  Joseph 
at  one  side.  Art  and  Intellect,  thus  happily  met  together 
and  housed  under  one  roof,  talked  to  each  other.  Joseph 
ate  his  dinner  in  silence.  Art  held  his  glass  to  the  light, 
and  flashed  into  enthusiasm  over  the  matchless  sparkle, 
the  divine  hues,  the  incomparable  radiance,  of  the  wine. 
Intellect,  with  a  sigh,  as  one  who  regrets  the  loss  of  a 
sense,  congratulated  his  brother  on  his  vivid  passion  for 
colour,  and,  taking  another  glass,  discoursed  on  the 
aesthetic  aspects  of  a  vintage  wine.  Joseph  drank  one 
glass  of  claret,  after  which  he  retired  to  his  den,  and  left 
the  brethren  to  finish  the  bottle.  After  dinner  the  twins 
sometimes  went  to  the  theatre,  or  they  repaired  arm-in- 
arm to  their  club — the  Renaissance,  now  past  its  prime 
and  a  little  fogyish  ;  mostly  they  sat  in  the  Studio  or  in 
the  Workshop,  in  two  arm-chairs,  with  a  table  between 
them,  smoked  pipes,  and  drank  brandy  and  potash-water. 
They  went  to  bed  at  any  time  they  felt  sleepy — perhaps 
at  twelve,  and  perhaps  at  three.  Joseph  went  to  bed  at 
half-past  ten.  The  brethren  generally  breakfasted  at 
eleven,  Joseph  at  eight.  After  breakfast,  unless  on  rainy 
days,  a  uniform  custom  was  observed.  Cornelius,  poet 
and  philosopher,  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

Humphrey,  artist,  and  therefore  a  man  of  intuitive  sym- 
pathies, followed  him.  Then  he  patted  Cornelius  on  the 
shoulder,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Brother,  I  know  your  thought.  You  want  to  drag  me 
from  my  work  ;  you  think  it  has  been  too  much  for  me 
lately.     You  are  too  anxious  about  me." 

(llornelius  smiled. 

"  Not  on  my  own  account  too,  Humphrey  ?  " 

"True — on  your  account.  Let  us  go  out  at  once, 
brother.     Ah,  why  did  you  choose  so  vast  a  subject  ?" 

Cornelius  was  engaged — had  been  engaged  for  twenty 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  39 

years — upon  an  epic  poem,  entitled  the  Upheaving  of 
JElfrcd.  The  school  he  belonged  to  would  not,  of  course, 
demean  themselves  by  speaking  of  Alfred.  To  them 
Edward  was  Eadward,  Edgar  was  Eadgar,  and  old  Canute 
was  Knut.  In  the  same  way  Cicero  became  Kikero,  Virgil 
was  Vergil,  and  Socrates  was  spelt,  as  by  the  illiterate 
bargee,  with  a  k.  So  the  French  prigs  of  the  ante-Boileau 
period  sought  to  make  their  trumpery  pedantries  pass  for 
current  coin.  So,  too,  Chapelain  was  in  labour  with  the 
Pucelle  for  thirty  years  ;  and  when  it  came —  But  Corne- 
lius Jagenal  could  not  be  compared  with  Chapelain,  be- 
cause he  had  as  yet  brought  forth  nothing.  He  sat  with 
what  he  and  his  called  "  English  "  books  all  round  him  ; 
in  other  words,  he  had  all  the  Anglo-Saxon  literature 
on  his  shelves,  and  was  amassing,  as  he  said,  material. 

Humphrey,  on  the  other  hand,  was  engaged  on  a  paint- 
ing, the  composition  of  which  offered  difficulties  which, 
for  nearly  twenty  years,  had  proved  insuperable.  He  was 
painting,  he  said,  the  "  Birth  of  the  Renaissance."  It 
was  a  subject  which  required  a  great  outlay  in  properties, 
Venetian  glass,  Italian  jewellery,  mediaeval  furniture, 
copies  of  paintings — everything  necessary  to  make  this 
work  a  masterpiece — he  bought  at  Joseph's  expense.  Up 
to  the  present  no  one  had  been  allowed  to  see  the  first 
rough  drawings. 

"Where's  Caesar?"  Humphrey  would  say,  leading 
the  way  to  the  hall.  "  Caesar !  Why,  here  he  is. 
Caesar  must  actually  have  heard  us  proposing  to  go 
out." 

Cornelius  called  the  dog  Kaysar,  and  he  refused  to 
answer  to  it ;  so  that  conversation  between  him  and 
Cornelius  was  impossible. 

There  never  was  a  pair  more  attached  to  each  other 
than  these  twin  brethren.  They  sallied  forth  each  morn- 
ing at  twelve,  arm-in  arm,  with  an  open  and  undisguised 
admiration  for  each  other  which  was  touching.  Before 
them  marched  Caesar,  who  was  of  mastiff  breed,  leading 


40  THE  GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

the  way.  Cornelius,  the  poet,  was  dressed  with  as  much 
care  as  if  he  were  still  a  young  man  of  five-and-twenty, 
in  a  semi-youthful  and  wholly-aesthetic  costume,  in  which 
only  the  general  air,  and  not  the  colour,  revealed  the  man 
of  delicate  perceptions.  Humphrey,  the  artist,  greatly 
daring,  affected  a  warm  brown  velvet  with  a  crimson-pur- 
ple ribbon.  Both  carried  flowers.  Cornelius  had  gloves  ; 
Humphrey  a  cigar.  Cornelius  was  smooth-faced,  save  for 
a  light  fringe  on  the  upper  lip.  Humphrey  wore  a  heavy 
moustache  and  a  full  long  silky  beard  of  a  delicately- 
shaded  brown,  inclining  when  the  sun  shone  upon  it  to  a 
suspicion  of  auburn.  Both  were  of  the  same  height, 
rather  below  the  middle  ;  they  had  features  so  much  alike 
that,  but  for  the  hair  on  the  face  of  one,  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  distinguish  between  them.  Both  were 
thin,  pale  of  face,  and  both  had,  by  some  fatality,  the  end 
of  their  delicately-carved  noses  slightly  tipped  with  red. 
Perhaps  this  was  due  to  the  daily  and  nightly  brandy-and- 
water.  And  in  the  airy  careless  carriage  of  the  two  men, 
their  sunny  faces  and  elastic  tread,  it  was  impossible  to 
suppose  that  they  were  fifty  and  Joseph  only  forty. 

To  be  sure,  Joseph  was  a  heavy  man,  stout  of  build, 
broad  in  frame,  sturdy  in  the  under-jaw  ;  while  his  broth- 
ers were  slight  shadowy  men.  And,  to  be  sure,  Joseph 
had  worked  all  his  life,  while  his  brothers  never  did  a 
stroke.  They  were  born  to  consume  the  fruits  which 
Joseph  was  born  to  cultivate. 

Outside  the  house  the  poet  heaved  a  heavy  sigh,  as 
if  the  weight  of  the  epic  lyas  for  the  moment  off  his 
mind.  The  artist  looked  round  with  a  critical  eye 
on  the  lights  and  shadows  of  the  great  commonplace 
square. 

"  Even  in  London,"  he  murmured,  **  Nature  is  too 
strong  for  man.  Did  you  ever,  my  dear  Cornelius,  catch 
a  more  brilliant  effect  of  sunshine  than  that  upon  the  lilac 
yonder  ? " 

Time,  end  of  April  ;  season  for\vard,  Ulac§  on  the  point 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  4t 

of  bursting  into  flower  ;  sicy  dotted  with  swift-flying 
clouds,  alternate  withdrawals  and  bursts  of  sunshine. 

"I  really  must,"  said  Humphrey,  "try  to  fix  that 
efifect." 

His  brother  took  the  arm  of  the  artist  and  drew  him 
gently  away. 

In  front  marched  Caesar. 

Presently  the  poet  looked  round.  They  were  out  of 
the  square  by  this  time. 

"  Where  is  Kaysar  ?  "  he  said,  with  an  air  of  surprise. 
"  Surely,  brother  Humphrey,  the  dog  can't  be  in  the  Car- 
narvon Arms  ?" 

"  I'll  go  and  see,"  said  Humphrey,  with  alacrity. 

He  entered  the  bar  of  the  tavern,  and  his  brother  waited 
outside.  After  two  or  three  minutes,  the  poet,  as  if  tired 
of  waiting,  followed  the  artist  into  the  bar.  He  found 
him  with  a  glass  of  brandy-and-water  cold. 

"  I  had,"  he  explained,  **  a  feeling  of  faintness.  Per- 
haps this  spring  air  is  chilly.     One  cannot  be  too  careful." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  the  poet.  **  I  almost  think — yes,  I 
really  do  feel — ah  !     Thank  you,  my  dear." 

The  girl,  as  if  anticipating  his  wants,  set  before  him  a 
"  four  "  of  brandy  and  the  cold  water.  Perhaps  she  had 
seen  the  face  before.  As  for  the  dog,  he  was  lying  down 
with  his  head  on  his  paws.  Perhaps  he  knew  there  would 
be  no  immediate  necessity  for  moving. 

They  walked  in  the  direction  of  the  Park,  arm-in-arm, 
affectionately. 

It  might  have  been  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  leaving 
the  Carnarvon  Arms  when  the  poet  stopped  and  gasped — 

"  Humphrey,  my  dear  brother,  advise  me.  What  would 
you  do  if  you  had  a  sharp  and  sudden  pain  like  a  knife 
inside  you  ? " 

Humphrey  replied  promptly : 

"  If  I  had  a  sharp  and  sudden  pain  like  a  knife  inside 
me,  I  should  take  a  small  glass  of  brandy  neat.  Mind,  no 
spoiling  the  effect  with  water." 


43  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

Cornelius  looked  at  his  brother  with  adrairaiion. 

"  Such  readiness  of  resource  !  "  he  murmured,  pressing 
his  arm. 

"  I  think  I  see — ah,  yes — Kaysar — he's  gone  in  before 
us.  The  sagacity  of  that  dog  is  more  remarkable  than 
anything  I  ever  read."  He  took  his  small  glass  of  brandy 
neat. 

The  artist,  looking  on,  said  he  might  as  well  have  one 
at  the  same  time.  Not,  he  added,  that  he  felt  any  imme- 
diate want  of  the  stimulant,  but  he  might  ;  and  at  all  times 
prevention  is  better  than  cure. 

It  was  two  o'clock  when  they  returned  to  Carnarvon 
Square.  They  walked  arm-in-arm,  with  perhaps  even  a 
greater  show  of  confiding  affection  than  had  appeared  at 
starting.  There  was  the  slightest  possible  lurch  in  their 
walk,  and  both  looked  solemn  and  heavy  with  thought. 

In  the  hall  the  artist  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  Pa — pasht  two.     Corneliush,  Work — " 

He  marched  to  the  Studio  with  a  resolute  an,  and, 
arrived  there,  drew  an  easy-chair  before  the  fire,  sat  him- 
self in  it,  and  went  fast  asleep. 

The  poet  sought  the  workshop.  On  the  table  lay  the 
portfolio  of  papers,  outside  which  was  emblazoned  on 
parchment,  with  dainty  scroll-work  by  the  hands  of  his 
brother  the  artist,  the  title  of  his  poem  : 

Wi\}t  ®l}jtjeatitng  of  ^elfreti: 

an  epic  in  twenty-four  cantos. 

By  Cornelius  Jagenal. 

He  gazed  at  it  fondly  for  a  few  minutes  ;  vaguely  took 
up  a  pen,  as  if  he  intended  to  finish  the  work  on  the  spot; 
and  then  with  a  sigh,  thought  being  to  much  for  brain,  he 
slipped  into  his  arm-chair,  put  up  his  feet,  and  was  asleep 
in  two  minutes.  At  half-past  five,  one  of  the  maids — 
they  kept  no  footman  in  Carnarvon  Square — brought  him 
tea. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  43 

"  I  have  been  dozing,  have  I,  Jane  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Very 
singular  thing  for  me  to  do." 

We  are  but  the  creatures  of  habit.  The  brethren  took 
the  same  walk  every  day,  made  the  same  remarks,  with  an 
occasional  variation,  and  took  the  same  morning  drams  ; 
they  spent  the  middle  of  the  day  in  sleep,  they  woke  up 
for  the  afternoon  tea,  and  they  never  failed  to  call  Jane's 
attention  to  the  singularity  of  the  fact  that  they  had  been 
asleep.  This  day  Jane  lingered  instead  of  going  away 
when  the  tea  was  finished. 

"  Did  master  tell  you,  sir,"  she  asked,  "  that  Miss  Flem- 
ing was  coming  to-day  ? " 

It  was  an  irritating  thing  that,  although  Cornelius 
ordered  the  dinner  and  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
although  Humphrey  was  in  sole  command  of  the  wine- 
cellar,  the  servants  always  called  Joseph  the  master. 
Great  is  the  authority  of  him  who  keeps  the  bag  ;  the 
power  of  the  penniless  twins  was  a  shadowy  and  visionary 
thing. 

The  master  had  told  his  brothers  that  Miss  Fleming 
would  probably  have  to  come  to  the  house,  but  no  date 
was  fixed. 

"  Miss  Fleming  came  this  afternoon,  sir,"  said 
Jane,  "  with  a  French  maid  She's  in  Mr.  Joseph's 
room  now." 

"  Oh,  tell  Mr.  Humphrey,  Jane,  and  we  will  dress  for 
dinner.  Tell  Mr.  Humphrey,  also,  that  perhaps  Miss 
Fleming  would  like  a  glass  of  champagne  to-day." 

Jane  told  the  artist. 

"  Always  thoughtful,"  said  Humphrey,  with  enthusiasm. 
"  Cornelius  is  forever  thinking  of  others'  comfort.  To  be 
sure  Miss  Fleming  shall  have  a  glass  of  champagne." 

He  brought  up  two  bottles,  such  was  his  anxiety  to 
give  full  expression  to  his  brother's  wishes. 

When  the  dinner-bell  rang,  the  brethren  emerged  simul- 
taneously from  their  rooms,  and  descended  the  stairs  to- 
gether, arm-in-arm.     Perhaps   in   expectation   of  dinner, 


44  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

perhaps  in  anticipation  of  the  champagne,  perhaps  with 
pleasure  at  the  prospect  of  meeting  with  Joseph's  ward, 
the  faces  of  both  were  lit  with  a  sunny  smile,  and  their 
eyes  with  a  radiant  light,  which  looked  like  the  real  and 
genuine  enthusiasm  of  humanity.  It  was  a  pity  that 
Humphrey  wore  a  beard,  or  that  Cornelius  did  not  ;  other, 
wise  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  distinguish  between 
this  pair  so  much  alike — these  youthful  twins  of  fifty,  who 
almost  looked  like  five-and-twenty. 


CHAPTER  II. 
"  Phlllls  is  my  only  Joy." 
^^  \  J[Y  brothers.  Miss  Fleming  !  " 

IVl  Joseph  introduced  the  twins  with  a  pride  im- 
possible to  dissemble.  They  were  so  youthful-looking,  so 
airy,  so  handsome,  besides  being  so  nobly  endowed  with 
genius,  that  his  pride  may  be  excused.  Castor  and  Pollux 
the  wrong  side  of  forty,  but  slim  still  and  well  preserved — 
these  Greek  figures  do  not  run  tall — might  have  looked 
like  Cornelius  and  Humphrey. 

They  parted  company  for  a  moment  to  welcome  the 
young  lady,  large-eyed  as  H^r^,  who  rose  to  greet  them, 
and  then  took  up  a  position  on  the  hearthrug,  one  with 
his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder,  like  the  Siamese  twms, 
and  smiled  pleasantly,  as  if,  being  accustomed  to  admira- 
tion and  even  awe,  they  wished  to  reassure  Miss  Fleming 
and  put  her  at  ease. 

Dinner  being  announced,  Cornelius,  the  elder  by  a  few 
moments,  gave  his  arm  to  the  young  lady.  Humphrey, 
the  younger,  hovered  close  behind,  as  if  he  too  was  taking 
his  part  in  the  chivalrous  act.  Joseph  followed  alone,  of 
course,  not  counting  in  the  little  procession. 

Phillis  Fleming's  arrival  at  No.  15  Carnarvon  Square 
was  in  a  manner  legal.  She  belonged  to  the  office,  not  to 
the  shrine  of  intellect,  poesy,  and  art  created  by  the  twin 
brethren.     She  was  an  orphan  and  a  ward.     She  had  two 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  45 

guardians  :  one  of  them,  Mr.  Lawrence  Colquhoun,  being 
away  from  England  ;  and  the  other,  Mr.  Abraham  Dyson, 
with  whom  she  had  lived  since  her  sixth  birthday,  having 
finished  his  earthly  career  just  before  this  history  begins, 
that  is  to  say,  in  the  spring  of  last  year.  Shaw,  Fairlight, 
and  Jagenal  were  solicitors  to  both  gentlemen.  There- 
fore Joseph  found  himself  obliged  to  act  for  this  young 
lady  when,  Mr.  Abraham  Dyson  buried  and  done  with, 
it  became  a  question  what  was  to  be  done  with  her.  There 
were  offers  from  several  disinterested  persons  on  Miss 
Fleming's  bereaved  condition  being  known.  Miss  Skim- 
pit,  of  the  Highgate  Collegiate  Establishment  for  Young 
Ladies,  proposed  by  letter  to  receive  her  as  a  parlour- 
boarder,  and  hinted  at  the  advantages  of  a  year's  disci- 
pline, tempered  by  Christian  kindness,  for  a  young  lady 
educated  in  so  extraordinary  and  godless  a  manner.  The 
clergyman  of  the  new  district  church  at  Finchley  called 
personally  upon  Mr.  Jagenal.  He  said  that  he  did  not 
know  the  young  lady  except  by  name,  but  that,  feeling 
the  dreadful  condition  of  a  girl  brought  up  without  any  of 
the  gracious  influences  of  Anglican  Ritual  and  Dogma,  he 
was  impelled  to  offer  her  a  home  with  his  Sisterhood 
Here  she  would  receive  clear  dogmatic  teaching  and  learn 
what  the  Church  meant  by  submission,  fasting,  penance, 
and  humiliation.  Mr.  Jagenal  thought  she  might  also 
learn  how  to  bestow  her  fortune  on  Anglo  Catholic  objects 
when  she  came  of  age,  and  dismissed  his  reverence  with 
scant  courtesy.  Two  or  three  widows  who  had  known 
better  days  offered  their  services,  which  were  declined 
with  thanks.  Joseph  even  refused  to  let  Miss  Flem- 
ing stay  with  Mrs.  Cassilis,  the  wife  of  Abraham 
Dyson's  second  cousin.  He  thought  that  perhaps  this 
lady  would  not  be  unwilling  to  enliven  her  house  by 
the  attraction  of  an  heiress  and  a  debutante.  And  it 
occurred  to  him  that,  for  a  short  time  at  least,  she 
might,  without  offending  a  censorious  world,  and  until 
her    remaining    guardian's     wishes    could    be     learned. 


46  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY, 

take    up   her    abode    at  the  house  of  the  three  bach 
elors. 

"  I  am  old,  Miss  Fleming,"  he  said,  •*  Forty  years  old; 
a  great  age  to  you  ,  and  my  brothers,  Cornelius  and 
Humphrey,  who  live  with  me,  are  older  still.  Cornelius 
is  a  great  poet ;  he  is  engaged  on  a  work — The  Upheaving 
of  Alfred — which  will  immortalise  his  name.  Humphrey 
is  an  artist  ;  he  is  working  at  a  group  the  mere  concep- 
tion of  which,  Cornelius  says,  would  make  even  the  brain 
of  Michael  Angelo  stagger,  You  will  be  proud,  I  think, 
in  after  years,  to  have  made  the  acquaintance  of  my 
brothers.*' 

She  came,  having  no  choice  or  any  other  wish,  ac- 
companied by  her  French  maid  and  the  usual  impedi- 
menta of  travel. 

Phillis  Fleming — her  father  called  her  Phillis  because 
she  was  his  only  joy — was  nineteen.  She  is  twenty  now, 
because  the  events  of  this  story  only  happened  last  year. 
Her  mother  died  in  giving  her  birth  ;  she  had  neither 
brothers  nor  sisters,  nor  many  cousins,  and  those  far 
away.  When  she  was  six  her  father  died  too — not  of  an 
interesting  consumption  or  of  a  broken  heart,,  or  any  ail- 
ment of  that  kind.  He  was  a  jovial  fox-hunting  ex-cap- 
tain of  cavalry,  with  a  fair  income  and  a  carefully  cultivat- 
ed taste  for  enjoyment.  He  died  from  an  accident  in  the 
field.  By  his  will  he  left  all  his  money  to  his  one  child 
and  appointed  as  her  trustees  his  father's  old  friend, 
Abraham  Dyson  of  Twickenham  and  the  City,  and  with 
him  his  own  friend,  Lawrence  Colquhoun,  a  man  some 
ten  years  younger  than  himself,  with  tastes  and  pursuits 
very  much  like  his  own.  Of  course,  the  child  was  taken 
to  the  elder  guardian's  house,  and  Colquhoun,  going  his 
way  in  the  world,  never  gave  his  trust  or  its  responsibili- 
ties a  moment's  thought. 

Phillis  Fleming  had  the  advantage  of  a  training  quite 
different  from  that  which  is  usually  accorded  to  young 
ladies.     She  went  to  Mr.  Abraham  Dyson  at  a  time  when 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  47 

that  old  gentlemen,  always  full  of  crochety  ideas,  was  de- 
veloping a  plan  of  his  own  for  female  education.  His 
theory  of  woman's  training  having  just  then  grown  in  his 
mind  to  finished  proportions,  he  welcomed  the  child  as  a 
subject  sent  quite  providentially  to  his  hand,  and  proceed- 
ed to  put  his  views  into  practice  upon  little  Phillis,  That 
he  did  so  showed  a  healthy  belief  in  his  own  judgment. 
Some  men  would  have  hastened  into  print  with  a  mere 
theory.  Mr.  Dyson  intended  to  wait  for  twelve  years  or 
so,  and  to  write  his  work  on  woman's  education  when 
Phillis's  example  might  be  the  triumphant  proof  of  his 
own  soundness  The  education  conducted  on  Mr.  Dyson's 
principles  and  rigidly  carried  out  was  approaching  com- 
pletion when  it  suddenly  came  to  an  abrupt  termination. 
Few  things  in  this  world  quite  turn  out  as  we  hope  and 
expect.  It  was  on  the  cards  that  Abraham  Dyson  might 
die  before  the  proof  of  his  theory.  This,  in  fact,  happened; 
and  his  chief  regret  at  leaving  a  world  where  he  had  been 
supremely  comfortable,  and  able  to  enjoy  his  glass  of  port 
to  his  eightieth  and  last  year,  was  that  he  was  leaving  the 
girl,  the  creation  of  his  theory,  in  an  unfinished  state. 

"  Phillis,"'  he  said,  on  his  deathbed,  "the  edifice  is  now 
complete, — all  but  the  Coping-stone.  Alas,  that  I  could 
not  live  to  put  it  on  ! "' 

And  what  the  Coping-stone  was  no  man  could  guess. 
Great  would  be  the  cleverness  of  him,  who  seeing  a  cathe- 
dral finished  save  for  roof  and  upper  courses,  would  under- 
take to  put  on  these,  with  all  the  ornaments,  spires,  lanterns, 
gargoyles,  pinnacles,  flying  buttresses,  surrets,  belfries, 
and  crosses  drawn  in  the  dead  designer's  lost  plans. 

Abraham  Dyson  was  a  wealthy  man.  Therefore  he  was 
greatly  respected  by  all  his  relations,  in  spite  of  certain 
ecentricities,  notably  those  which  forbade  him  to  ask  any 
of  them  to  his  house.  If  the  nephews,  nieces  and  cousins 
wept  bitterly  on  learning  their  bereavement,  deeper  and 
more  bitter  were  their  lamentations  when  they  found  that 
Mr.  Dyson  had  left  none  of  them  any  money. 


48  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

Not  one  penny ,-  not  a  mourning  ring  •  not  a  single 
sign  or  token  of  affection  to  one  of  them.  It  was  a  cruel 
throwing  of  cold  water  on  the  tenderest  affections  of  the 
heart,  and  Mr.  Dyson's  relations  were  deeply  pained. 
Some  of  them  swore  ;  others  felt  that  in  this  case  it  was 
needless  to  give  sorrow  words,  and  bore  their  suffering  in 
silence. 

Nor  did  he  leave  any  money  to  Phillis. 

This  obstinate  old  theorist  left  it  all  to  found  a  college 
for  girls,  who  were  to  be  educated  in  the  same  manner  as 
Phillis  Fleming,  and  in  accordance  with  the  scheme  stated 
to  be  fully  drawn  up  and  among  his  papers. 

Up  to  the  present,  Joseph  Jagenal  had  not  succeeded 
in  finding  the  scheme.  There  were  several  rolls  of  paper, 
forming  portions  of  the  great  work,  but  none  were  finished, 
and  all  pointed  to  the  last  chapter,  that  entitled  the 
"  Coping-stone,"  in  which,  it  was  stated,  would  be  found 
the  whole  scheme  with  complete  fulness  of  detail.  But 
this  last  chapter  could  not  be  found  anywhere.  If  it  never 
was  found,  what  would  become  of  the  will  ?  Then  each 
one  of  Mr,  Dyson's  relations  began  to  calculate  what 
might  fall  to  himself  out  of  the  inheritance.  That  was 
only  natural,  and  perhaps  it  was  not  every  one  who,  like 
Mr.  Gabriel  Cassilis,  openly  lamented  the  number  of  Mr. 
Dyson's  collateral  heirs. 

Not  to  be  found.  Joseph  Jagenal's  clerks  now  engaged 
in  searching  everywhere  for  it,  and  all  the  relations  pray- 
ing— all  fervently  and  some  with  faith — that  it  might 
never  turn  up. 

So  that  poor  Phillis  is  sitting  down  to  dinner  with  her 
education  unfinished — where  is  that  Coping-stone  ? 
Every  young  lady  who  has  had  a  finishing  year  at  Brigh- 
ton may  look  down  upon  her.  Perhaps,  however,  as  her 
education  has  been  of  a  kind  quite  unknown  in  polite 
circles,  and  she  has  never  heard  of  a  finishing  year,  she 
may  be  calm  even  in  the  presence  of  other  young  ladies. 

What  sort  of  a  gin  is  she? 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  49 

To  begin  with,  she  has  fifty  thousand  pounds.  Not  the 
largest  kind  of  fortune,  but  still  something.  More  than 
most  girls  have  ,  more  than  the  average  heiress  has. 
Enough  to  make  young  Fortunio  Hunter  prick  up  his 
ears,  smooth  down  his  moustache,  and  begin  to  inquire 
about  guardians  ;  enough  to  purchase  a  roomy  cottage 
where  Love  may  be  comfortable  ;  enough  to  enable  the 
neediest  wooer,  if  he  be  successful,  to  hang  up  his  hat  on 
the  peg  behind  the  door  and  sit  down  for  the  rest  of  his 
years.  Fifty  thousand  pounds  is  a  sum  which  means 
possibilities.  It  was  her  mother's,  and,  very  luckily  for 
her,  it  was  so  tied  up  that  Captain  Fleming,  her  father, 
could  not  touch  more  than  the  interest,  which,  at  three 
per  cent.,  amounts,  as  may  be  calculated,  to  fifteen  hun- 
dred a  year.  Really,  after  explaining  that  a  young  lady 
has  fifty  thousand,  what  further  praise  is  wanted,  what 
additional  description  is  necessary  f  By  contemplation  of 
fifty  thousand  pounds,  ardent  youth  is  inflamed  as  by  a 
living  likeness  of  Helen.  Be  she  lovely  or  be  she  loathly, 
be  she  young  or  old,  be  she  sweet  or  shrewish — she  has 
fifty  thousand  pounds. 

With  her  fifty  thousand  pounds  the  gods  have  given 
Phillis  Fleming  a  tall  figure,  the  lines  of  which  are  as 
delicately  curved  as  those  of  any  yacht  in  the  Solent  or 
of  any  statue  from  Greek  studio.  She  is  slight,  perhaps 
too  slight ;  she  has  hair  of  a  common  dark  brown,  but  it 
is  fine  hair,  there  is  a  great  wealth  of  it,  it  has  a  gleam 
and  glimmer  of  its  own  as  the  sunlight  falls  upon  it,  as  if 
there  were  a  hidden  colour  lying  somewhere  in  it  waiting 
to  be  discovered  ;  her  eyes,  like  her  hair,  are  brown — they 
are  also  large  and  lustrous  ;  her  lips  are  full  ;  her  features 
are  not  straight  and  regular,  like  those  of  women's  beau- 
ties, for  her  chin  is  perhaps  a  little  short,  though  square 
and  determined  ;  she  has  a  forehead  which  is  broad  and 
rather  low  ;  she  wears  an  expression  in  which  good  tem- 
per, intelligence,  and  activity  are  more  marked  than 
beauty.     She  is  quick  to  mark  the  things  that  she  sees. 


50  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

and  she  sees  everything.  Her  hands  are  curious,  because 
they  are  so  small,  so  delicate,  and  so  sympathetic  ;  while 
her  face  is  in  repose  you  may  watch  a  passing  emotion  by 
the  quivering  of  her  fingers,  just  as  you  may  catch,  if  you 
have  the  luck,  the  laughter  or  tears  of  most  girls  first  m 
the  brightness  or  the  clouding  of  their  eyes. 

There  are  girls  who,  when  we  meet  them  in  the  street, 
pass  us  like  the  passing  of  sunshine  on  an  April  day  ; 
who,  if  we  spend  the  evening  in  a  room  where  they  are, 
make  us  understand  something  of  the  warmth  which 
Nature  intended  to  be  universal,  but  has  somehow  only 
made  special  ;  whom  it  is  a  pleasure  to  serve,  whom  it  is  a 
duty  to  reverence,  who  can  bring  purity  back  to  the  brain 
of  a  rake,  and  make  a  young  man's  heart  blossom  like  a 
rose  in  June. 

Of  such  is  Phillis  Fleming. , 

CHAPTER   III. 

PHILLIS'S   EDUCATION. 

THE  dinner  began  without  much  conversation  ;  partly 
because  the  twins  were  hungry,  and  partly  because 
they  were  a  little  awed  by  the  presence  of  an  unwonted 
guest  in  white  draperies. 

Phillis  noted  that,  so  far  as  she  had  learned  as  yet, 
things  of  a  domestic  kind  in  the  outer  world  were  much 
like  things  at  Mr.  Dyson's  ,  that  is  to  say,  the  furniture  of 
the  dining-room  was  similar,  and  the  dinner  was  the  same. 
I  do  not  know  why  she  expected  it,  but  she  had  some 
vague  notion  that  she  might  be  called  upon  to  eat  strange 
dishes. 

"  The  Bollinger,  brother  CorneUus,"  said  the  artist. 

"Thoughtful  of  you,  brother  Humphrey,''  the  poet 
answered.  "  Miss  Fleming,  the  Bollinger  is  in  your 
honour. '■ 

Phillis  looked  puzzled.  She  did  not  understand  where 
the  honour  came  in.    But  she  tasted  her  glass. 


THK   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  5 1 

"  It  is  a  little  too  dry  for  me,"  she  said  with  admirable 
candour.  "  If  you  have  any  Veuve  Clicquot,  Mr.  Jage- 
nal" — she  addressed  the  younger  brother — "I  should 
prefer  that." 

All  three  perceptibly  winced.  Jane,  the  maid,  presently 
returned  with  a  bottle  of  the  sweeter  wine.  Miss  Fleming 
tasted  it  critically  and  pronounced  in  its  favor. 

**  Mr.  Dyson,  my  guardian,"  she  said,**  always  used  to 
say  the  ladies  like  their  wine  sweet  At  least  I  do.  So 
he  used  to  drink  Perier  Jout  tres  sec,  and  I  had  Veuve 
Clicquot." 

The  poet  laid  his  forefinger  upon  his  brow  and  looked 
meditatively  at  his  glass.  Then  he  filled  it  again.  Then 
he  drank  it  off  helplessly.  This  was  a  remarkable  young 
lady. 

"  You  have  lived  a  very  quiet  life,"  said  Joseph,  with  a 
note  of  interrogation  in  his  voice,  "  with  your  guardian  at 
Highgate." 

"Yes,  very  quiet.  Only  two  or  three  gentlemen  ever 
came  to  the  house,  and  I  never  went  out." 

"  A  fair  prisoner,  indeed,"  murmured  the  poet."  Danae 
in  her  tower  waiting  for  the  shower  of  gold." 

"  Danae  must  have  wished,"  said  Phillis,  "  when  she 
was  put  in  the  box  and  sent  to  sea,  that  the  shower  of 
gold  had  never  come." 

Cornelius  began  to  regret  his  allusion  to  the  mytholog- 
ical maid  for  his  classical  memory  failed,  and  he  could  not 
at  the  moment  recollect  what  box  the  young  lady  referred 
to.  This  no  doubt  came  of  much  poring  over  Anglo- 
Saxon  Chronicles.  But  he  remembered  other  circum- 
stances connected  with  Danae's  history,  and  was  silent. 

"  At  least  you  went  out,"  said  Humphrey,  "  to  see  the 
Academy  and  the  Water-colours." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  have  never  seen  a  picture-gallery  at  all.  I  have  not 
once  been  outside  Mr.  Dyson's  grounds  until  to-day,  since 
I  was  six  years  old." 


52  THE   GOLDEN   BUTUERFLY. 

Humphrey  supported  his  nervous  system,  like  his 
brother,  with  another  glass  of  the  Bollinger. 

"  You  found  your  pleasure  in  reading  divine  Poetry," 
said  the  Maker  softly  ;  "  perhaps  in  writing  Poetry  your- 
self.' 

•'  Oh  dear  no  !  "  said  Phillis.  "  I  have  not  yet  learned  to 
read,  Mr.  Dyson  said  that  ladies  ought  not  to  learn 
reading  till  they  are  of  an  age  when  acquiring  that 
mischievous  art  cannot  hurt  themselves  or  their  fellow- 
creatures." 

Phillis  said  this  with  an  air  of  superior  wisdom,  as  if 
there  could  be  no  disputing  the  axiom. 

Humphrey  looked  oceans  of  sympathy  at  Cornelius, 
who  took  out  his  handkerchief  as  if  to  wipe  away  a  tear, 
but  as  none  was  in  readiness  he  only  sighed. 

"  You  were  taught  other  things,  however  ? "  Joseph 
asked. 

••  Yes  ,  I  learned  to  play.  My  master  came  twice  a 
week,  and  I  can  play  pretty  well ;  I  play  either  by  ear  or 
by  memory.  You  see, '  she  added  simply,  "  I  never  for- 
get anything  that  I  am  told.  ' 

Compensation  of  civilised  nature.  We  read,  and  mem-, 
ory  suffers  Those  who  do  not  read  remember.  Before 
wandenng  minstrels  learned  to  read  and  write,  the  whole 
Iliad  was  handed  down  on  men's  tongues  ;  there  are 
Brahmins  who  repeat  all  their  Sacred  Books  word  for 
word  without  slip  or  error,  and  have  never  learned  to 
read  .  there  are  men  at  Oxford  who  can  tell  you  the  win- 
ners of  Events  for  a  fabulous  period,  and  yet  get  plucked 
ior  Greats  because,  as  they  will  tell  you  themselves,  they 
really  cannot  read.  Phillis  did  not  know  how  to  read. 
But  she  remembered — remembered  everything  ;  could  re- 
peat a  poem  dictated  twice  if  it  were  a  hundred  lines 
long,  and  never  forgot  it ;  caught  up  an  air  and  learned 
how  to  play  it  at  a  sitting. 

She  could  not  read.  All  the  world  of  fiction  was  lost 
to  her.     All  the  fancies  of  poets  were  lost  to  her  ;  all  the 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  53 

records  of  folly  and  crime  which  we  call  history  were  un- 
known to  her. 

Try  to  think  what,  and  of  what  sort,  would  be  the 
mind  of  a  person,  otherwise  cultivated,  unable  to  read. 
In  the  first  place,  he  would  be  clear  and  dogmatic  in  his 
views,  not  having  the  means  of  comparison  ;  next,  he 
would  be  dependent  on  oral  teaching  and  rumor  for  his 
information  ;  he  would  have  to  store  everything  as  soon 
as  learned,  away  in  his  mind  to  be  lost  altogether,  unless 
he  knew  where  to  lay  his  hand  upon  it ;  he  would  hear 
little  of  the  outer  world,  and  very  little  would  interest 
him  beyond  his  own  circle  ;  he  would  be  in  the  enjoyment 
of  all  the  luxuries  of  civilisation  without  understanding 
how  they  got  there  ;  he  would  be  like  the  Mohammedans 
when  they  came  into  possession  of  Byzantium,  in  the 
midst  of  things  unintelligible,  useful,  and  delightful. 

"  You  will  play  to  us  after  dinner,  if  you  will  be  so 
kind,"  said  Joseph. 

"Can  it  be.  Miss  Fleming,"  asked  Humphrey,  "that 
you  never  went  outside  the  house  at  all  ?" 

"  Oh  no  ;  I  could  ride  in  the  paddock.  It  was  a  good 
large  field  and  my  pony  was  clever  at  jumping  ;  so  I  got 
on  pretty  well." 

"  Would  it  be  too  much  to  ask  you  how  you  managed 
to  get  through  the  day  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  £he  replied  ;  "  it  was  very  easy.  I  had  a 
ride  before  breakfast  ;  gave  Mr.  Dyson  his  tea  at  ten  ; 
talked  with  him  till  twelve  ;  we  always  talked  '  subjects,' 
you  know,  and  had  a  regular  course.  When  we  had  done 
talking,  he  asked  me  questions.  Then  I  probably  had 
another  ride  before  luncheon.  In  the  afternoon  I  played, 
looked  after  my  dress,  and  drew." 

"You  are,  then,  an  Artist !"  cried  Humphrey  enthusi- 
astically. "  Cornelius,  I  saw  from  the  first  that  Miss 
Fleming  had  the  eye  of  an  Artist." 

"  I  do  not  know  about  that  ;  I  can  draw  people.  I  will 
show  you  some  of  my  sketches,  if  you  like,  to-morrow. 


54  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

They  are  all  heads  and  figures  ;  I  shall  draw  all  of  you 
to-night  before  going  to  bed." 

"  And  in  the  evening  ?" 

"  Mr.  Dyson  dined  at  seven  Sometimes  he  had  one  or 
two  gentlemen  to  dine  with  him  ;  never  any  lady.  When 
there  was  no  one,  we  talked  *  subjects '  again."' 

Never  any  lady  !  Here  was  a  young  woman,  rich,  of 
good  family,  handsome,  and  in  her  way  accomplished, 
who  had  never  seen  or  talked  with  a  lady,  nor  gone  out 
of  the  house  save  into  its  gardens,  since  she  was  a 
child. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  all  these  disadvantages  and  the  strange- 
ness of  her  position,  she  was  perfectly  self-possessed. 
When  she  left  the  table,  the  two  elder  brethren  addressed 
themselves  to  the  bottle  of  Chateau  Mouton  with  more 
rapidity  than  was  becoming  the  dignity  of  the  wine. 
Joseph  almost  immediately  joined  his  ward.  When  the 
twins  left  the  dining-room  with  its  empty  decanters,  and 
returned  arm-in-arm  to  the  drawing-room,  they  found 
their  younger  brother  in  animated  conversation  with  the 
girl.  Strange  that  Joseph  should  so  far  forget  his  usual 
habits  as  not  to  go  straight  to  his  own  room.  The  two 
bosoms  which  heaved  m  a  continual  harmony  with  each 
other  felt  a  simultaneous  pang  of  jealousy  for  which 
there  was  no  occasion.  Joseph  was  only  thinking  of  the 
Coping-stone. 

"  Did  I  not  feel  it  strange  driving  through  the  streets  ?" 
PhiUis  was  saying.  "  It  is  all  so  strange  that  I  am  be- 
wildered— so  strange  and  so  wonderful  I  used  to  dream 
of  what  it  was  like  ;  my  maid  told  me  something  about  it; 
but  I  never  guessed  the  reality.  There  are  a  hundred 
things  more  than  I  can  ever  draw." 

It  was,  as  hinted  above,  the  custom  of  this  young  per- 
son, as  it  was  that  of  the  Mexicans,  to  make  drawings  of 
everything  which  occurred.  She  was  thus  enabled  to 
preseBve  a  tolerably  faithful  record  of  her  life. 

"  Show  me,"  said  Joseph — "  show  me  the  heads  of  my 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY  55 

brothers  and  myself,  that  you  promised  to  do,  as  soon  as 
they  are  finished." 

The  brethren  sat  together  on  a  sofa,  the  Poet  in  his 
favorite  attitude  of  meditation,  forefinger  on  brow  ;  the 
Artist  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire,  catching  the  effects 
of  colour.  Their  faces  were  just  a  little  flushed  with  the 
wine  they  had  taken. 

One  after  the  other  crossed  the  room  and  spoke  to 
their  guest. 

Said  Cornelius  : 

"  You  are  watching  my  brother  Humphrey.  Study 
him,  Miss  Fleming  ;  it  will  repay  you  well  to  know  that 
childlike  and  simple  nature,  innocent  of  the  world,  and 
aglow  with  the  flame  of  genius.'* 

"  I  think  I  can  draw  him  now,"  said  Phillis,  looking  at 
the  Artist  as  hard  as  a  turnkey  taking  Mr.  Pickwick's 
portrait. 

Then  came  Humphrey  : 

"  I  see  your  eyes  turned  upon  my  brother  Cornelius. 
He  is  a  great,  a  noble  fellow.  Miss  Fleming.  Cultivate 
him,  talk  to  him,  learn  from  him.  You  will  be  very  glad 
some  day,  to  be  able  to  boast  that  you  have  met  my 
brother  Cornelius.  To  know  him  is  a  Privilege  ;  to  con- 
verse with  him  is  an  Education." 

"  Come,"  said  Joseph  cheerfully,  "  where  is  the  piano  ? 
This  is  a  bachelor's  house,  but  there  is  a  piano  some- 
where.    Have  you  got  it,  Cornelius  ?" 

The  Poet  shook  his  head,  with  a  soft  sad  smile. 

"  Nay,"  he  said,  "  is  a  Workshop  the  place  for  music  ? 
Let  us  rather  search  for  it  in  the  Realms  of  Art." 

In  fact  it  was  in  Mr.  Humphrey's  Studio,  whither  they 
repaired.  The  girl  sat  down,  and  as  she  touched  the 
keys  her  eyes  lit  up  and  her  whole  look  changed.  Joseph 
was  the  only  one  of  the  three  who  really  cared  for  music. 
He  stood  by  the  fire  and  said  nothing.  The  brethern  on 
either  side  of  the  performer  displayed  wonders  of  enthu- 
siastic admiration,  each  in  his  own  way — the  Poet  sad  and 


56  THE   GOLDEN  BUTTERFLY. 

reflective,  as  if  music  softened  his  soul ;  tlie  Artist  with  an 
effervescing  gaiety  delightful  to  behold.  Joseph  was 
thinking.  ■'*  Can  we  " — had  his  thoughts  taken  form  of 
speech — "  can  we  reconstruct  from  the  girl  s  own  account 
the  old  mans  scheme  anew,  provided  the  chapter  on  the 
Coping-stone  be  never  found  ?  Problem  given.  A  girl 
brought  up  in  seclusion,  without  intercourse  with  any  of 
her  sex  except  illiterate  servants,  yet  bred  to  be  a  lady  : 
not  allowed  even  to  learn  reading,  but  taught  orally,  so 
as  to  hold  her  own  in  talk  .  required,  to  discover  what  the 
old  man  meant  by  it,  and  what  was  wanted  to  finish  the 
structure.  Could  it  be  reading  and  writing  ^  Could 
Abraham  Dyson  have  intended  to  finish  where  all  other 
people  begin  ? ' 

This  solution  mightily  commended  itself  to  Joseph  and 
he  went  to  bed  in  great  good  spirits  at  his  own  cleverness. 

In  the  dead  of  night  he  awoke  in  fear  and  trembling 

"They  will  go  into  Chancery,  he  thought.  •'  What  if 
the  Court  refuses  to  take  my  view  ? 

At  three  in  the  morning  the  brethren,  long  left  alone 
with  their  pipes,  rose  to  go  to  bed. 

Brandy-and  soda  sometimes  makes  men  truthful  after 
the  third  tumbler,  and  beguiles  them  with  iflusory  hopes 
after  the  fourth.  The  twins  were  at  the  end  of  their 
fourth, 

*•'  Cornelius,"  said  the  Artist,  ''  she  has  ^50,000." 

"She  has,  brother  Humphrey." 

"  It  is  a  pity,  Cornelius,  that  we,  who  have  only  ;^20o  a 
year  each,  are  already  fifty  years  of  age. 

"  Humphrey,  what  age  do  we  feel  ?' 

"Thirty  Not  a  month  more,  '  replied  the  Artist,  strik- 
ing out  with  both  fists  at  an  imaginary  toe — probably  old 
Time, 

"  Right.  Not  an  hour  above  the  thirty,  said  the  Bard, 
smiting  his  chest  gently.   "  As  for  Joseph,  he  is  too  old — " 

"  Very  much  too  old — " 

"  To  think  of  marrying  such  a  young — "        ,.; 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  57 

"  Fresh  and  innocent — " 

"  Engaging  and  clever  girl  as  Miss  Pliillis  Fleming." 

Did  they,  then,  both  intend  to  marry  the  young  lady  i 

CHAPTER    IV. 
"  To  taste  the  freshness  of  the  morning  air." 

PHILLIS  retreated  to  her  own  room  at  her  accus- 
tomed hour  of  ten.  Her  nerves  were  excited  ;  her 
brain  was  troubled  with  the  events  of  this  day  of  emanci- 
pation. She  was  actually  in  the  world,  the  great  world  of 
which  her  guardian  had  told  her,  the  world  where  history 
was  made,  where  wicked  kings,  as  Mr,  Dyson  perpetu- 
ally impressed  upon  her,  made  war  their  play  and  the 
people  their  playthings.  She  was  in  the  world  where  all 
those  things  were  done  of  which  she  had  only  heard  as 
yet.  She  had  seen  the  streets  of  London,  or  some  of 
them — those  streets  along  which  had  ridden  the  knights 
whose  pictures  she  loved  to  draw,  the  princesses  and 
queens  whose  stories  Mr.  Dyson  had  taught  her  ;  where 
the  business  of  the  world  was  carried  on,  and  where  there 
flowed  up  and  down  the  ceaseless  stream  of  those  whom 
necessity  spurs  to  action.  As  a  matter  of  narrow  fact, 
she  had  seen  nothing  but  that  part  of  London  which  lies 
between  Highgate  Hill  and  Carnarvon  Square  ;  but  to 
her  it  seemed  the  City,  the  centre  of  all  life,  the  heart  of 
civilisation.  She  regretted  only  that  she  had  not  been 
able  to  discern  the  Tower  of  London.  That  might  be, 
however,  close  to  Mr,  Jagenal's  house,  and  she  would 
look  for  it  in  the  morning. 

What  a  day  !  She  sat  before  her  fire  and  tried  to  pic- 
ture it  all  over  again.  Horses,  carriages,  carts,  and  peo- 
ple rushing  to  and  fro  ;  shops  filled  with  the  most  won- 
derful exhibition  of  precious  things ;  eccentric  people 
with  pipes,  who  trundled  carts  piled  with  yellow  oranges  ; 
gentlemen  in  blue  with  helmets,  who  lounged  negligently 
along  the  streets  ;  boys  who  ran  and  whistled  :  boys  who 


58  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

ran  and  shouted  ;  boys  who  ran  and  sold  papers  :  always 
boys — where  were  all  the  girls  ?  Where  were  they  all 
going  ?  and  what  were  they  all  wishing  to  do  .•• 

In  the  evening  the  world  appeared  to  narrow  itself.  It 
consisted  of  dinner  with  three  elderly  gentlemen  ;  one  of 
whom  was  thoughtful  about  herself,  spoke  kindly  to  her, 
and  asked  her  about  her  past  life  ;  while  the  other  two — 
and  here  she  laughed — talked  unintelligently  about  Art 
and  themselves,  and  sometimes  praised  each  other. 

Then  she  opened  her  sketch-book  and  began  to  draw 
the  portraits  of  her  new  friends.  And  first  she  produced 
a  faithful  effigies  of  the  twins.  This  took  her  nearly  an 
hour  to  draw,  but  when  finished  it  made  a  pretty  picture. 
The  brethren  stood  with  arms  intertwined  like  two  chil- 
dren, with  eyes  gazing  fondly  into  each  other's  and  heads 
thrown  back,  in  the  attitude  of  poetic  and  artistic  medita- 
tion which  they  mostly  affected.  A  clever  sketch,  and 
she  was  more  than  satisfied  when  she  held  it  up  to  the 
light  and  looked  at  it,  before  placing  it  in  her  portfolio. 

"Mr.  Humphrey  said  I  had  the  eye  of  an  artist,'"  she 
murmured.  **  I  wonder  what  he  will  say  when  he  sees 
this." 

Then  she  drew  the  portrait  of  Joseph.  This  was  easy. 
She  drew  him  sitting  a  little  forward,  playing  with  his 
watch-chain,  looking  at  her  with  deep  grave  eyes. 

Then  fhe  closed  her  eyes  and  began  to  recall  the  end- 
less moving  panorama  of  the  London  streets.  But  this 
she  could  not  draw.  There  came  no  image  to  her  mind, 
only  a  series  of  blurred  pictures  running  into  each  other. 

Then  she  closed  her  sketch-book  put  up  her  pencils, 
and  went  to  bed.  It  was  twelve  o'clock.  Joseph  was 
still  thinking  over  the  terms  of  Mr.  Dyson's  will  and  the 
chapter  on  the  Coping-stone.  The  twins  were  taking 
their  third  split  soda — it  was  brotherly  to  divide  a  bottle, 
and  the  mixture  was  less  likely  to  be  unfairly  diluted. 

Phillis  went  to  bed,  but  she  could  not  sleep.  The  steps 
of  the  passers-by,  the  strange  room,  the  excitement  of  the 


THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  59 

day  kept  her  awake.  She  was  like  some  fair  yacht  sud- 
denly launched  from  the  dock  where  she  had  grown 
slowly  to  her  pefect  shape,  upon  the  waters  of  the  har- 
bour, which  she  takes  for  the  waters  of  the  great  ocean. 

She  looked  round  her  bedroom  in  Carnarvon  Square, 
and  because  it  was  not  Highgate,  thought  it  must  be  the 
vast,  shelterless  and  unpitying  world  of  which  she  had  so 
often  heard,  and  at  thought  of  which,  brave  as  she  was, 
she  had  so  often  shuddered. 

It  was  nearly  three  when  she  fairly  slept,  and  then  she 
had  a  strange  dream.  She  though  that  she  was  part  of 
the  great  procession  which  never  ended  ail  day  long  in  the 
streets,  only  sometimes  a  little  more  crowded  and  some- 
times a  little  thinner.  She  pushed  and  hastened  with  the 
rest.  She  would  have  liked  to  stay  and  examine  the 
glittering  things  exhibited — the  gold  and  jewelry,  the 
dainty  cakes  and  delicate  fruits,  the  gorgeous  dresses  in  the 
windows — but  she  could  not.  All  pushed  on,  and  she  with 
them;  there  had  been  no  beginning  of  the  rush,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  no  end.  Faces  turned  round  and  glared  at 
her — faces  which  she  marked  for  a  moment — they  were  the 
same  which  she  had  seen  in  the  morning  ;  faces  hard  and 
faces  hungry ;  faces  cruel  and  faces  forbidding  ;  faces 
that  were  bent  on  doing  something  desperate — every  kind 
of  face  except  a  sweet  face.  That  is  a  rare  thing  for  a 
stranger  to  find  in  a  London  street.  The  soft  sweet  faces 
belong  to  the  country.  She  wondered  why  they  all  looked 
at  her  so  curiously.     Perhaps  because  she  was  a  stranger. 

Presently  there  was  a  sort  of  hue  and  cry  and  every- 
body began  running,  she  with  them.  Oddly  enough,  they 
all  ran  after  her.  Why  ?  Was  that  also  because  she  was 
a  stranger?  Only  the  younger  men  ran,  but  the  rest  look- 
ed on.  The  twins,  however  were  both  running  among 
the  pursuers.  The  women  pointed  and  flouted  at  her ; 
the  older  men  nodded  wagged  their  heads,  and  laughed. 
Faster  they  ran  and  faster  she  fied  ;  they  distanced,  she 
and  her  pursuers  the  crowd  behind  ;  they  passed  beyond 


6o  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

the  streets  and  into  country  fields,  where  hedges  took  the 
place  of  the  brilliant  windows  ;  they  were  somehow  back 
in  the  old  Highgate  paddock  which  had  been  so  long  her 
only  outer  world.  The  pursuers  were  reduced  to  three  or 
four,  among  them,  by  some  odd  chance,  the  twin  brethren 
and  as  one,  but  who  she  could  not  tell,  caught  up  with  her 
and  laid  his  hand  upon  hers,  and  she  could  run  no  longer 
and  could  resist  no  more,  but  fell,  not  with  terror  at  all, 
but  rather  a  sense  of  relief  and  gladness,  into  a  clutch 
which  was  like  an  embrace  of  a  lover  for  softness  and 
strength,  she  saw  in  front  of  her  dead  old  Abraham  Dyson, 
who  clapped  his  hands  and  cried,  "  Well  run,  well  won  ! 
The  Coping-stone,  my  Phillis,  of  your  education  !  " 

She  woke  with  a  start,  and  sat  up  looking  round  the 
room.  Her  dream  was  so  vivid  that  she  saw  the  group 
before  her  very  eyes  in  the  twilight — herself,  with  a  figure, 
dim  and  undistinguishable  in  the  twilight,  leaning  over 
her  ;  and  a  little  distance  off  old  Abraham  Dyson  himself, 
standing,  as  she  best  remembered  him,  upright,  and  with 
his  hands  upon  his  stick.  He  laughed  and  wagged  his 
head  and  nodded  it  as  he  said  :  "  Well  run,  well  won,  my 
Phillis  ;  it  is  the  Coping-stone  !  " 

This  was  a  very  remarkable  dream  for  a  young  lady  of 
nineteen.  Had  she  told  it  to  Joseph  Jagenal  it  might  have 
led  his  thoughts  into  a  new  channel. 

She  rubbed  her  eyes,  and  the  vision  disappeared.  Then 
she  laid  her  head  again  upon  the  pillow,  just  a  little 
frightened  at  her  ghosts,  and  presently  dropped  off  to 
sleep. 

This  time  she  had  no  more  dreams  ;  but  she  awoke  soon 
after  it  was  daybreak,  being  still  unquiet  in  her  new  sur- 
roundings. 

And  now  she  remembered  everything  with  a  rush.  She 
had  left  Highgate;  she  was  in  Carnarvon  Square;  she  was 
in  Mr.  Joseph  Jagenal's  house  ;  she  had  been  introduced 
to  two  gentlemen,  one  of  whom  was  said  to  have  a  child- 
like nature  all  aglow  with  the  flame  of  genius,  while  the 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  6l 

Other  was  described  as  a  great,  a  noble  feIlo\v>  to  know 
whom  was  a  Privilege  and  to  converse  with  whom  was  an 
Education. 

She  laughed  when  she  thought  of  the  pair.  Like  Nebu- 
chadnezzar, she  had  forgotten  her  dream.  UnHke  that 
king,  she  did  not  care  to  recall  it. 

The  past  was  gone.  A  new  life  was  about  to  begin. 
And  the  April  sun  was  shining  full  upon  her  window- 
blinds. 

Phillis  sprang  from  her  bed  and  tore  open  the  curtains 
with  eager  hand.  Perhaps  facing  her  might  be  the  Tower 
of  London.  Perhaps  the  Thames,  the  silver  Thames,  with 
London  Bridge.  Perhaps  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  "  which 
Christopher  Wren  built  in  place  of  the  old  one  destroyed 
by  the  Great  Fire."  Phillis's  facts  in  history  were  short 
and  decisive  like  the  above. 

No  Tower  of  London  at  all.  No  St.  Paul's  Cathedral. 
No  silver  Thames.  Only  a  great  square  with  houses  all 
round.  Carnarvon  Square  at  dawn.  Not,  perhaps,  a 
fairy  piece,  but  wonderful  in  its  novelty  to  this  newly 
emancipated  cloistered  nun,  with  whom  a  vivid  sense  of 
the  beautiful  had  grown  up  by  degrees  in  her  mind,  fed 
only  in  the  pictures  supplied  by  the  imagination.  She 
knew  the  trees  that  grew  in  Lord  Manfields  park,  beyond 
the  paddock  ;  she  could  catch  in  fine  days  a  glimpse  of 
the  vast  city  that  stretches  itself  out  from  the  feet  of 
breezy  Highgate;  she  knew  the  flowers  of  her  own  garden; 
and  for  the  rest — she  imagined  it.  River,  lake,  mountain, 
forest,  and  field,  she  knew  them  only  by  talk  with  her 
guardian.  And  the  mighty  ocean  she  knew  because  her 
French  maid  had  crossed  it  when  she  quitted  fair  Nor- 
mandy, and  told  her  again  and  again  of  the  horrors  en- 
countered by  those  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships. 

So  that  a  second  garden  was  a  new  revelation.  Besides 
it  was  bright  and  pretty.  There  were  the  first  flowers  of 
spring,  gay  tulips  and  pretty  things,  whose  name  she  did 
not  know  or  could  not  make  out  from  the  window.     The 


6?  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

shrubs  and  trees  were  green  with  the  first  sweet  chlorine 
foliage  of  April,  clear  and  fresh  from  the  broken  buds 
which  lay  thick  upon  the  ground,  the  tender  leaflets  as 
yet  all  unsullied  by  the  London  smoke. 

The  pavement  was  deserted,  because  it  was  as  yet  too 
early  for  any  one,  even  a  milk-boy,  to  be  out.  The  only 
living  person  to  be  seen  was  a  gardener,  already  at  work 
among  the  plants. 

A  great  yearning  came  over  her  to  be  out  in  the  open  air 
and  among  the  flowers.  At  Highgate  she  rose  at  all  hours; 
worked  in  the  garden  ;  saddled  and  rode  her  pony  in  the 
field  ;  and  amused  herself  in  a  thousand  ways  before  the 
household  rose,  subject  to  no  restraint  or  law  but  one — 
that  she  was  not  to  open  the  front-door,  or  venture  herself 
in  the  outer  world. 

"  Mr.  Jagenal  said  I  was  to  do  as  I  liked,"  she  said, 
hesitating.  *'  It  cannot  be  wrong  to  go  out  of  the  front- 
door now.  Besides,"  reasoning  here  like  a  casuist,  "  per- 
haps it  is  the  back-door  which  leads  to  that  garden. 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  she  was  ready.  She  was  not  one 
of  those  young  ladies  who,  because  no  one  is  looking  at 
them,  neglect  their  personal  appearance.  On  the  contrary, 
she  always  dressed  for  herself  ;  therefore,  she  always 
dressed  well. 

This  morning  she  wore  a  morning  costume,  all  one 
colour,  and  I  think  it  was  gray,  but  am  not  quite  certain. 
It  was  in  the  graceful  fashion  of  last  year,  lying  in  long 
curved  lines,  and  fitting  closely  to  her  slender  and  tall 
figure.  A  black  ribbon  was  tied  round  her  neck,  and  in 
her  hat — the  hats  of  last  year  did  not  suit  every  kind  of 
face,  but  they  suited  the  face  of  Phillis  Fleming — she  wore 
one  of  those  bright  little  birds  whose  destruction  for  the 
purposes  of  fashion  we  all  deplore.  In  her  hand  she 
carried,  as  if  she  were  still  at  Highgate  and  going  to  sad- 
dle her  pony,  a  small  riding-whip.  And  thus  she  opened 
the  door,  and  slid  down  the  stairs  of  the  great  silent  house 
as  stealthily  and  almost  as  fearfully  as  the  Lady  Godiva 


THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  63 

on  a  certain  memorable  day.  It  was  a  ghostly  feeling 
which  came  over  her  when  she  ran  across  the  broad  hall, 
and  listened  to  the  pattering  of  her  own  feet  upon  the 
oilcloth.  The  broad  daylight  streamed  through  the  re- 
verbere  ;  but  yet  the  place  seemed  only  half  lit  up.  The 
closed  doors  on  either  hand  looked  as  if  dreadful  things 
lurked  behind  them.  With  something  like  a  shudder  she 
let  down  the  door-chain,  unbarred  the  bolts,  and  opened 
the  door.  As  she  passed  through  she  was  aware  of  a 
great  rush  across  the  hall  behind  her.  It  was  Caesar,  the 
mastiff.  Awakened  by  a  noise  as  of  one  burgling,  he 
crept  swiftlv  and  silently  up  the  kitchen-stairs,  with  intent 
to  do  a  desperate  deed  of  valour,  and  found  to  his  raptu- 
rous joy  that  it  was  only  the  young  lady,  she  who  came 
the  night  before,  and  that  she  was  going  out  for  an  early 
morning  walk — a  thing  he,  for  his  part,  had  not  been  per- 
mitted to  do  for  many,  many  moons,  not  since  he  had 
been  brought — a  puppy  yet,  and  innocent — to  the  heart 
of  London. 

No  one  out  at  all  except  themselves.  What  joy  !  Phillis 
shut  the  door  very  carefully  behind  her,  looked  up  and 
down  the  street,  and  then  running  down  the  steps,  seized 
the  happy  Caesar  by  the  paws  and  danced  round  and 
round  with  him  upon  the  pavement.  Then  they  both  ran 
a  race.  She  ran  like  Atalanta,  but  Caesar  led  till  the  fin- 
ish, when  out  of  a  courtesy  more  than  Castilian,  he 
allowed  himself  to  be  beaten,  and  Phillis  won  by  a  neck. 
This  result  pleased  them  both,  and  Phillis  discovered  that 
her  race  had  brought  her  quite  to  the  end  of  one  side  of 
the  square.  And  then,  looking  about  her,  she  perceived 
that  a  gate  of  the  garden  was  open,  and  went  in,  followed 
by  Caesar,  now  in  the  seventh  heaven.  This  was  better, 
better,  than  leading  a  pair  of  twins  who  sometimes  tied 
knots  with  their  legs.  The  gate  was  left  open  by  the 
under-gardener,  who  had  arisen  thus  early  in  the  morning 
with  a  view  to  carrying  off  some  of  the  finer  tulips  for  him- 
self.    They  raced  and  chased  each  other  up  and  down 


64  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

the  gravel  walks  between  the  Hlacs  and  laburnums  burst- 
ing into  blossom.  Presently  they  came  to  the  under-gar- 
dener  himself,  who  was  busy  potting  a  selection  of  the 
tulips.  He  stared  as  if  at  a  ghost.  Half-past  five  in  the 
morning,  and  a  young  lady,  with  a  dog,  looking  at  him  ! 

He  stiffened  his  upper  lip,  and  put  the  spade  before 
the  flower-pots. 

*' Beg  pardon,  miss.  No  dogs  allowed.  On  the  rules, 
miss." 

*' William,'  she  replied — for  she  was  experienced  in 
undergardeners,  knew  that  they  always  answer  to  the 
name  of  William,  also  that  they  are  exposed  to  peculiar 
temptations  in  the  way  of  bulb — "  William,  for  whom  you 
are  potting  those  tulips?" 

Then,  because  the  poor  youth's  face  was  suffused  and 
his  countenance  was '-unto  himself  for  a  betrayal,"  she 
whistled — actually  whistled — to  Caesar,  and  ran  on  laugh- 
ing, 

"  Here's  a  rum  start,"  said  William.  "A  young  lady 
as  knows  my  name,  what  I'm  up  to  and  all,  coming  here 
at  five  o'clock  in  the  blessed  morning  when  all  young 
ladies  as  I  ever  heard  of  has  got  their  noses  in  their  pil- 
lowses — else  "taint  no  good  being  a  young  lady.  Ketches 
me  adisposin'  of  the  toolups.  With  a  dawg,  and  whistles 
like  a  young  nobleman." 

He  began  putting  back  the  flowers. 

'*  No  knowin  who  she  mayn't  tell,  nor  what  she  mayn't 
say.     It  s  dangerous,  William." 

By  different  roads,  Montaigne  wrote,  we  arrive  at  the 
same  end.  William's  choice  of  the  path  of  virtue  was  in 
this  case  due  to  Phillis's  early  visit. 

CHAPTER  V. 
"  Te  duce  Caesar." 

TIRED  of  running,  the  girl  began  to  walk.     It  was  an 
April  morning,  when  the  east  wind  for  once  had 
forgotten  to   blow.     Walking,  she  whistled   one   of   the 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  65 

ditties  that  she  knew.  She  had  a  very  superior  mode  of 
performing  on  that  natural  piccolo-flute,  the  human 
mouth  :  it  was  a  way  of  her  own,  not  at  all  like  the  full 
round  whistle  of  the  street-boy,  with  as  much  volume  as 
in  a  bottle  of  '51  port,  as  full  of  unmeaning  sound  as  a 
later  poem  of  Robert  Browning's,  and  as  unmelodious  as 
the  instrument  on  which  that  poet  has  always  played. 
Quite  the  contrary.  Phillis's  whistle  was  of  a  curious 
delicacy  and  of  a  bullfinch-like  note,  only  more  flexible. 
She  trilled  out  an  old  English  ditty,  "  When  Love  was 
young,"  first  simply,  and  then  with  variations.  Presently, 
forgetting  that  she  was  not  in  the  old  paddock,  she  began 
to  sing  it  in  her  fresh  young  voice,  William  the  under- 
gardener  and  Caesar  the  dog  her  only  audience.  They 
were  differently  affected.  William  grew  sad,  thinking  of 
his  sins.  The  dog  wagged  his  tail  and  rushed  round  and 
round  the  singer  by  way  of  appreciation.  Music  saddens 
the  guilty,  but  maketh  glad  those  who  are  clear  of  con- 
science. 

It  was  half- past  six  when  she  became  aware  that  she 
was  getting  hungry.  In  the  old  times  it  was  easy  to  de- 
scend to  the  kitchen  and  make  what  Indian  people  call  a 
chota  hazri,  a  little  breakfast  for  herself.  Now  she  was 
not  certain  whether,  supposing  the  servants  were  about, 
her  visit  would  be  well  received  ;  or,  supposing  they  were 
not  yet  up,  she  should  know  where  to  find  the  kettle,  the 
tea,  and  the  firewood. 

She  left  the  garden,  followed  by  Caesar,  who  was  also 
growing  hungry  after  his  morning  walk,  and  resolved  on 
going  straight  home 

There  were  two  objections  to  this. 

First,  she  did  not  know  one  house  from  another,  and 
they  were  all  alike.  Second,  she  did  not  know  the  num- 
ber, and  could  not  have  read  it  had  she  known  it. 

Mr.  Jagenal's  door  was  painted  a  dark  brown  ;  so  were 
they  all.  Mr.  Jagenals  door  had  a  knocker  :  so  had  they 
all.    Could  she  go  all  round  the  square  knocking  at  every 


66  THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

door,  and  waking  up  the  people  to  ask  if  Mr.  Jagenal 
lived  there  ?  She  knew  little  of  the  world,  but  it  did 
occur  to  her  that  it  would  seem  unconventional  for  d. 
young  lady  to  "  knock  in  "  at  six  in  the  morning.  She 
did  not,  most  unfortunately,  think  of  asking  William  the 
under-gardener. 

She  turned  to  the  dog. 

"  Now,  Caesar,"  she  said  ;  take  me  home." 

Caesar  wagged  his  tail,  nodded  his  head,  and  started 
off  before  her  at  a  smart  walk,  looking  round  now  and 
then  to  see  that  his  charge  was  following. 

"  Lucky,"  said  Phillis,  "that  I  thought  of  the  dog." 

Caesar  proceeded  with  great  solemnity  to  cross  the 
road,  and  began  to  march  down  the  side  of  the  square, 
Phillis  expecting  him  to  stop  at  every  house.  But  he  did 
not.  Arrived  at  the  corner  where  Carnarvon  Street 
strikes  off  the  square  he  turned  aside,  and  looking  round 
to  see  that  his  convoy  was  steering  the  same  course,  he 
trudged  sturdily  down  that  thoroughfare. 

"  This  cannot  be  right,"  thought  Phillis.  But  she  was 
loath  to  leave  the  dog,  for  to  lose  him^would  be  to  lose 
everything,  and  she  followed.  Perhaps  he  knew  of  a 
back  way.  Perhaps  he  would  take  her  for  a  little  walk, 
and  show  her  the  Tower  of  London. 

Caesar,  no  longer  running  and  bounding  around  her, 
walked  on  with  the  air  of  one  who  has  an  important  busi- 
ness on  hand,  and  means  to  carry  it  through.  Carnar- 
von Street  is  long,  and  of  the  half  dismal,  half-genteel 
order  of  Bloomsbury.  Caesar  walked  halfway  down  the 
street.  Then  he  suddenly  came  to  a  dead  stop.  It  was 
in  front  of  a  tavern,  the  Carnarvon  Arms,  the  door  of 
which,  for  it  was  an  early  house,  was  already  open,  and 
the  potboy  was  taking  down  the  shutters.  The  fact  that 
the  shutters  were  only  half  down  made  the  dog  at  first 
suspect  that  there  was  something  wrong.  The  house.,  as 
he  knew  it,  always  had  the  shutters  down  and  the  portals 
open.    As,  however,  there  seemed  no  unlawfulness  of 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  67 

licensed  hours  to  consider,  the  dog  marched  into  the  bar 
without  so  much  as  looking  to  see  if  Phillis  was  following, 
and  immediately  lay  down  with  his  head  on  his  paws. 

"  Why  does  he  go  in  there  ?"  said  Phillis.  "  And  what 
is  the  place?" 

She  pushed  the  door,  which,  as  usual  in  such  establish- 
ments, hung  half  open  by  means  of  a  leathern  strap,  and 
looked  in.  Nobody  in  the  place  but  Csesar.  She  entered, 
and  tried  to  understand  where  she  was.  A  smell  of  stale 
beer  and  stale  tobacco  hanging  about  the  room  smote  her 
senses,  and  made  her  sick  and  faint.  She  saw  the  bottles 
and  glasses,  the  taps  and  the  counters,  and  she  under- 
stood— she  was  in  a  drinking-place,  one  of  the  wicked 
dens  of  which  her  guardian  sometimes  spoke.  She  was 
in  a  tavern,  that  is,  a  place  where  workmen  spend  their 
earnings  and  leave  their  families  to  starve.  She  looked 
round  her  with  curiosity  and  a  little  fear. 

Presently  she  became  aware  of  the  early-risen  potboy, 
who,  having  taken  down  the  shutters,  was  proceeding 
about  his  usual  work  behind  the  bar,  when  his  eyes  fell 
upon  the  astonishing  sight  of  a  young  lady,  a  real  young 
lady,  as  he  saw  at  once,  standing  in  the  Bottle  and  Jug 
department.  He  then  observed  the  dog,  and  compre- 
hended that  she  was  come  there  after  Csesar,  and  not  for 
purposes  of  refreshment. 

"Why,  miss,  *  he  said,  "Caesar  thinks  he's  out  with  the 
two  gentlemen.  He  brings  them  here  regular,  you  see, 
every  morning,  and  they  takes  their  little  glass,  don't 
they,  Caesar  ?" 

Probably — thought  watchful  Phillis,  anxious  to  learn, — 
probably  a  custom  of  polite  life  which  Mr.  Dyson  had 
neglected  to  teach  her.  And  yet  he  always  spoke  with 
such  bitterness  of  public-houses. 

"  Will  you  take  a  drop  of  somethink,  miss  ?"  asked  the 
polite  assistant,  tapping  the  handles  hospitably.  *  What 
shall  it  be  .>" 

"  I  should  like  " said  Phillis. 


68  THE   COLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

**  To  be  sure,  it's  full  early,"  the  man  went  on,  "  for  a 
young  lady  and  all.  But  Lor'  bless  your  'art,  it's  never 
none  too  early  for  most,  when  they've  got  the  coin.  Give 
it  a  name,  miss,  and  there,  the  guvnor  he  isn't  hup,  and 
we  won't  chalk  it  down  to  you,  nor  never  ask  you  for  the 
money,     On'y  give  it  a  name." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Phillis.  *I  should  like 
to  have  a  cup  of  tea,  if  I  could  take  it  outside." 

He  shook  his  head,  a  gesture  of  disappointment. 

"  It  can't  be  had  here.  Tea  !" — as  if  he  had  thought 
better  things  of  so  much  beauty — "  Tea  !  Swipes  !  After 
all,  miss,  it's  your  way,  and  no  doubt  you  don't  know  no 
better.  There's  a  Early  Caufy-'ouse  a  little  way  up  the 
street.  You  must  find  it  for  yourself,  because  the  dawg 
he  don't  know  it ;  knows  nothink  about  Tea,  that  dawg. 
You  go  out,  miss,  and  Caesar  he'll  go  to." 

Phillis  thanked  him  again  for  his  attention,  and  fol> 
lowed  his  advice.  Caesar  instantly  got  up  and  sallied 
forth  with  her.  Instead,  however,  of  returning  to  the 
square,  he  went  straight  on  down  Carnavon  Street,  still 
leading  the  way.  Turning  first  to  the  right  and  then  to 
the  left,  he  conducted  Phillis  through  what  seemed  a  lab- 
yrinth of  streets.  These  were  mostly  streets  of  private 
houses,  not  of  the  best,  but  rather  o-f  the  seediest.  It  was 
now  nearly  seven  o'clock,  and  the  signs  of  life  were 
apparent.  The  paper-boy  was  beginning,  with  the  milk- 
man, his  rounds  ;  the  postman's  foot  was  preparing  for 
the  first  turn  on  his  daily  treadmill  of  doorsteps  and 
double  knocks.  The  workmen,  paid  by  time,  were  stroll- 
ing to  their  hours  of  idleness  with  bags  of  tools  ;  windows 
were  thrown  open  here  and  there  ;  and  an  early  servant 
might  be  seen  rejoicing  to  bang  her  mats  at  the  street- 
door.  Phillis  tried  to  retain  her  faith  in  Caesar,  and 
followed  obediently.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  the 
dog  knew  where  he  was  going,  and  had  a  distinct 
purpose  in  his  mind.  It  was  to  be  hoped,  she 
thought,  that    his   purpose   included  a  return   home   as 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  69 

soon  as  possible,  because  she  was  getting  a  little  tired. 
Streets — always  streets.  Who  were  the  people  who 
lived  in  them  all  ?  Could  there  be  in  every  house  the 
family  life  of  which  Mr.  Dyson  used  to  tell  her — the  life 
she  had  never  seen,  but  which  he  promised  she  should 
one  day  see — the  sweet  life  where  father  and  mother  and 
children  live  together  and  share  their  joys  and  sorrows  ? 
She  began  to  look  into  the  windows  as  she  walked  along, 
in  the  hope  of  catching  a  hasty  glance  at  so  much  of  the 
family  life  as  might  be  seen  so  early  in  the  morning. 

She  passed  one  house  where  the  family  were  distinctly 
visible  gathered  together  in  the  front  kitchen.  She 
stopped  and  looked  down  through  the  iron  railings.  The 
children  were  seated  at  the  tabfe.  The  mother  was  en- 
gaged in  some  cooking  operations  at  the  fire.  Were  they 
about  to  sing  a  hymn  and  to  have  family  prayers  before 
their  breakfast  ?  Not  at  this  house  apparently,  for  the 
woman  suddenly  turned  from  her  occupation  at  the  fire 
and,  without  any  adequate  motive  that  Phillis  could  dis- 
cern, began  boxing  the  children's  ears  all  round.  In- 
stantly there  arose  a  mighty  cry  from  those  alike  who  had 
already  been  boxed  and  those  who  sat  expectant  of  their 
turn.  Evidently  this  v/as  one  of  the  houses  where  the 
family  life  was  not  a  complete  success.  The  scene  jarred 
on  Phillis,  upsetting  her  pretty  little  Arcadian  castle  of 
domestic  happiness.  She  felt  disappointed,  and  hurried 
on  after  her  conductor. 

It  is  sad  to  relate  that  Caesar  presently  entered  another 
public-house.  This  time  Phillis  went  in  after  him  with  no 
hesitation  at  all.  She  encountered  the  landlord  in  person, 
who  greeted  the  dog,  asked  him  what  he  was  doing  so 
early,  and  then  explained  to  Miss  Fleming  that  he  was 
accustomed  to  call  at  the  house  every  day  about  noon, 
accompanied  by  two  gentlemen,  who  had  their  little 
whack  and  then  went  away  ;  and  that  she  only  had  to  go 
through  the  form  of  coming  and  departing  in  order  to 
get  Csesar  out  too. 


7©  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  Little  whack,"  thought  Phillis.  "  Little  glass  !  What 
a  lot  of  customs  and  expressions  I  have  to  learn  !" 

For  those  interested  in  the  sagacity  of  dogs,  or  in  com- 
parative psychology,  it  may  be  noted  as  a  remarkable 
thing  that  when  Caesar  came  out  of  that  second  public- 
house  he  hesitated,  as  one  struck  suddenly  with  a  griev- 
ous doubt.  Had  he  been  doing  right  ?  He  took  a  few 
steps  in  advance,  then  he  looked  round  and  stopped,  then 
he  looked  up  and  down  the  street.  Finally  he  came  back 
to  Phillis,  and  asked  for  instructions  with  a  wistful  gaze. 

Phillis  turned  round  and  said,  "  Home,  Csesar."  Then, 
after  barking  twice,  Csesar  led  the  way  back  again  with 
alacrity  and  renewed  confidence. 

He  not  only  led  the  way  home,  but  he  chose  a  short 
cut  known  only  to  himself.  Perhaps  he  thought  his  charge 
might  be  tired  ;  perhaps  he  wished  to  show  her  some 
further  varieties  of  English  life. 

In  the  districts  surrounding  Bloomsbury  are  courts 
which  few  know  except  the  policeman  ;  even  that  daunt- 
less functionary  is  chary  of  venturing  himself  into  them, 
except  in  couples,  and  then  he  would  rather  stay  outside, 
if  only  out  of  respect  to  a  playful  custom,  of  old  standing, 
prevalent  among  the  inhabitants.  They  keep  flower-pots 
on  their  first  and  second  floors,  and  when  a  policeman 
passes  through  the  court  they  drop  them  over.  If  no  one 
is  hurt,  there  is  no  need  of  an  apology  ;  if  a  constable  re- 
ceives the  projectile  on  his  head  or  shoulder,  it  is  a  de- 
plorable accident  which  those  who  have  caused  it  are  the 
first  to  publicly  lament.  It  was  through  a  succession  of 
these  courts  that  the  dog  led  Phillis. 

Those  of  the  men  who  had  work  to  do  were  by  this 
time  gone  to  do  it.  Those  who  bad  none,  together  with 
those  who  felt  strongly  on  the  subject  of  Adam's  curse 
and  therefore  wished  for  none,  stayed  at  home  and 
smoked  pipes,  leaning  against  the  doorposts.  The  ideal 
heaven  of  these  noble  Englishmen  is  for  ever  to  lean 
against  doorposts  and  for  ever  to  smoke  pipes  in  a  land 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  7l 

where  it  is  always  balmy  morning,  and  where  there  are 
"  houses  "  handy  into  which  they  can  slouch  from  time  to 
time  for  a  drink. 

The  ladies,  their  consorts,  were  mostly  engaged  in  such 
household  occupations  as  could  be  carried  on  out  of  doors 
and  within  conversation  reach  of  each  other.  The  court 
was  therefore  musical  with  sweet  feminine  voices. 

The  children  played  together — no  officer  of  the  London 
School  Board  having  yet  ventured  to  face  those  awful 
flower-pots — in  a  continuous  stream  along  the  central  line 
of  the  courts.  Phillis  observed  that  the  same  game  was 
universal,  and  that  the  players  were  apparently  all  of  the 
same  age. 

She  also  remarked  a  few  things  which  struck  her  as 
worth  noting.  The  language  of  the  men  differed  consid- 
erably from  that  used  by  Mr.  Dyson,  and  their  pronunci- 
ation seemed  to  her  to  lack  delicacy.  The  difference 
most  prominent  at  first  was  the  employment  of  a  single 
adjective  to  qualify  everything — an  observance  so  univer- 
sal as  to  arrest  at  once  the  attention  of  a  stranger.  The 
women,  it  was  also  apparent,  were  all  engaged  in  singing 
together  a  kind  of  chorus  of  lamentation,  in  irregular 
strophe  and  antistrophe,  on  the  wicked  ways  of  their  men. 
Rough  as  were  the  natives  of  this  place,  no  one  molest- 
ed Phillis.  The  men  stared  at  her  and  exchanged  criti- 
cisms on  her  personal  appearance.  These  were  compli- 
mentary, although  not  poetically  expressed.  The  women 
stared  harder,  but  said  nothing  until  she  had  passed  by. 
Then  they  made  remarks  which  would  have  been  unpleas- 
ant had  they  been  audible.  The  children  alone  took  no 
notice  of  her.  The  immunity  from  insult  which  belongs 
to  young  ladies  in  English  thoroughfares  depends,  I  fear, 
more  upon  force  of  public  opinion  than  'upon  individual 
chivalry.  Una  could  trust  herself  alone  with  her  lion  : 
she  can  only  trust  herself  among  the  roughs  of  London 
when  they  are  congregated  in  numbers.  Nor,  I  think, 
the  spectacle  of  goodness  and   purity,  combined   with 


72  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

beauty,  produce  in  their  rude  breasts,  by  comparison  with 
themselves,  those  feelings  of  shame,  opening  up  the  way 
to  repentance,  which  are  expected  by  self-conscious 
maidens  ministering  in  the  paths  of  Dorcas. 

Phillis  walked  along  with  steadfast  eyes,  watching 
everything  and  afraid  of  nothing,  because  she  knew  of  no 
cause  for  fear.  The  dog,  decreasing  the  distance  between 
them,  marched  a  few  feet  in  advance,  right  through  the 
middle  of  the  children,  who  fell  back  and  formed  a  lane 
for  them  to  pass.  Once  Phillis  stopped  to  look  at  a  child 
— a  great-eyed,  soft-faced,  curly-haired,  beautiful  boy. 
She  spoke  to  him,  asked  him  his  name,  held  out  her  hand 
to  him.  The  fathers  and  the  mothers  looked  on  and 
watched  for  the  result,  which  would  probably  take  the 
form  of  coin. 

The  boy  prefaced  his  reply  with  an  oath  of  great  ful- 
ness and  rich  flavour.  Phillis  had  never  heard  the  phrase 
before,  but  it  sounded  unmusically  on  her  ear.  Then  he 
held  out  his  hand  and  demanded  a  copper.  The  watch- 
ful parents  and  guardians  on  the  door-steps  murmured 
approval,  and  all  the  children  shouted  together  like  the 
men  of  Ephesus. 

At  this  juncture  Caesar  looked  round.  He  mastered 
the  situation  in  a  moment,  surrounded  and  isolated  his 
convoy  by  a  rapid  movement  almost  simultaneous  in  flank 
and  rear  ;  barked  angrily  at  the  children,  who  threatened 
to  close  in  en  masse  and  make  short  work  of  poor  Philhs  , 
and  gave  her  clearly  to  understand  once  for  all  that  she 
was  to  follow  him  with  silent  and  unquestioning  docility. 

She  obeyed,  and  they  came  out  of  the  courts  and  into 
the  squares.  Phillis  began  to  hope  that  the  Tower  of 
London  would  presently  heave  in  sight,  or  at  least  the  sil- 
ver Thames  with  London  Bridge  ;  but  they  did  not 

She  was  very  tired  by  this  time.  It  was  nearly  eight, 
and  she  had  been  up  and  out  since  five.  Even  her  vigorous 
young  limbs  were  beginning  to  feel  dragged  by  her  three 
hours'  ramble.     Quite  suddenly  Csesar  turned  a  corner,  as 


THE  GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  73 

it  seemed,  and  she  found  herself  once  more  in  Carnarvon 
Square.  The  dog,  feeling  that  he  had  done  enough  for 
reputation,  walked  soberly  along  the  pavement,  until  he 
came  to  No.  15,  when  he  ascended  the  steps  and  sat 
down. 

The  door  was  open,  Jane  the  housemaid  assiduously 
polishing  the  bell-handles. 

•'  Lor'  a  mercy,  miss  !"  she  cried,  "  I  thought  you  was  a- 
bed  and  asleep.  Wherever  have  you  a-bin — with  Caesar 
too?" 

"  We  went  for  a  walk  and  lost  ourselves,"  Phillis  replied. 
"  Jane,  I  am  very  hungry  ;  what  time  is  breakfast  ?  " 

"  The  master  has  his  at  eight,  miss.  But  Mr.  Cornelius 
he  told  me  yesterday  that  you  would  breakfast  with  him 
and  Mr.  Humphrey — about  eleven,  he  said.  And  Mr. 
Humphrey  thought  you'd  like  a  little  fresh  fish  and  a 
prawn  curry,  perhaps." 

"  I  shall  breakfast  with  Mr.  Joseph,"  said  Phillis. 

She  went  to  her  room  in  a  little  temper.  It  was  too 
bad  to  be  treated  like  a  child  wanting  nice  things  for 
breakfast.  A  little  more  experience  taught  her  that  any 
culinary  forethought  on  the  part  of  the  Twins  was  quite 
sure  to  be  so  directed  as  to  secure  their  own  favourite 
dishes. 

She  did  breakfast  with  Joseph  :  made  tea  for  him,  told 
him  all  about  her  morning  adventures,  received  his  ad- 
monitions in  good  part,  and  sent  him  to  his  office  half  an 
hour  later  than  usual.  One  of  his  letters  bore  an  Ameri- 
can stamp.  This  he  opened,  putting  the  rest  in  a  leather 
pocket-book. 

"  This  letter  concerns  you,  Miss  Fleming,"  he  apologis- 
ed, in  an  old-fashioned  way;  "that  is  why  I  opened  it 
before  you.  It  comes  from  your  remaining  guardian,  Mr. 
Lawrence  Colquhoun.  Listen  to  what  he  says.  He  writes 
from  New  York  ;  *  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  my  old  friend 
Abraham  Dyson  is  gone.  I  shall  be  ready  to  assume  my 
new  responsibilities  in  a  fortnight  after  you  receive  this 


74  THE   GOLDEN  BUTTERFLY. 

letter,  as  I  hope  to  land  in  that  time  at  Liverpool.  Mean- 
time give  my  kindest  regards  to  my  ward.'  So — Lawrence 
Colquhoun  home  again  !  " 

"  Tell  me  about  him  :  is  he  grave  and  old,  like  Mr.  Dy- 
son ?  Will  he  want  me  to  go  back  to  the  old  life  and  talk 
*  subjects  *  ?  Mr.  Jagenal,  much  as  I  loved  my  dear  old 
guardian,  I  could  not  consent  to  be  shut  up  any  more." 

"  You  will  not  be  asked,  my  dear  young  lady.  Mr. 
Colquhoun  is  a  man  under  forty.  He  is  neither  old  nor 
grave.  He  was  in  the  army  with  your  father.  He  sold 
out  seven  or  eight  years  ago,  spent  a  year  or  two  about 
London,  and  then  disappeared.  I  am  his  l-awyer,  and  from 
time  to  time  he  used  to  send  me  his  address  and  draw  on 
me  for  money.  That  is  all  I  can  tell  you  of  his  travels. 
Lawrence  Colquhoun,  Miss  Fleming,  was  a  popular  man. 
Everybody  liked  him  ;  especially  the — the  fair  sex." 

"  Was  he  very  clever  ?  " 

"  N-no  ;  I  should  say  not  very  clever.  Not  stupid. 
And,  now  one  thinks  of  it,  it  is  remarkable  that  he  never 
was  known  to  excel  in  anything,  though  he  hunted,  rode, 
shot,  and  did,  I  suppose,  all  the  other  things  that  young 
men  in  the  army  are  fond  of.  He  was  fond  of  reading 
too,  and  had  a  considerable  fund  of  information  ;  but  he 
never  excelled  in  anything." 

Phillis  shook  her  head. 

Mr.  Dyson  used  to  say  that  the  people  we  like  best  are 
the  people  who  are  in  our  own  line  and  have  acknow- 
ledged their  own  inferiority  to  ourselves.  Perhaps  the 
reason  why  Mr.  Colquhoun  was  liked  was  that  he  did  not 
compete  with  the  men  who  wished  to  excel,  but  content- 
edly took  a  second  place." 

This  was  one  of  the  bits  of  Dysonian  philosophy  with 
which  Phillis  occasionally  graced  her  conversation,  quoting 
it  as  reverently  as  if  it  had  been  a  line  from  Shakespeare, 
sometimes  with  startling  effect. 

"  I  shall  try  to  like  him.  I  am  past  nineteen,  and  at 
twenty-one  I  shall  be  my  own  mistress.     If  I  do  not  like 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  75 

him,  I  shall  not  live  with  him  any  longer  after  that." 

"I  think  you  will  not,  in  any  case,  live  at  Mr.  Colquhoun's 
residence,"  said  Joseph  ;  "  but  I  am  sure  you  will  like 
him.'" 

"  A  fortnight  to  wait." 

"  You  must  not  be  shy  of  him,"  Joseph  went  on;  "you 
have  nothing  to  be  afraid  of.  Think  highly  of  yourself,  to 
begin  with." 

"  I  do,"  said  PhilHs  ;  "  Mr,  Dyson  always  tried  to  make 
me  think  highly  of  myself.  He  told  me  my  education  was 
better  than  that  of  any  girl  he  knew.  Of  course  that  was 
partly  his  kind  way  of  encouraging  me.  Mr.  Dyson  said 
that  shyness  was  a  kind  of  cowardice,  or  else  a  kind  of 
vanity.  People  who  are  afraid  of  other  people,  he  said, 
either  mistrust  themselves  or  think  they  are  not  rated  at 
their  true  value.  But  I  think  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  of 
strangers.  Do  I  look  like  being  afraid  ? "  She  drew  her- 
self up  to  her  full  height  and  smiled  a  conscious  superiority. 
"  Perhaps  you  will  think  that  I  rate  myself  too  highly." 

"  That,"  said  Joseph,  with  a  compliment  really  creditable 
for  a  beginner, — "that  would  be  difl&cult,  Miss.  Fleming." 
When  the  Twins  prepared  to  take  their  morning  walk  at 
twelve  an  unexpected  event  happened.  Cjesar,  for  the 
first  time  on  record,  and  for  no  reason  apparent  or  assigned, 
refused  to  accompany  them.  They  went  out  without  him, 
feeling  lonely,  unhappy,  and  a  little  unprotected.  They 
passed  the  Carnarvon  Arms  without  a  word.  At  the  next 
halting-place  they  entered  the  bar  in  silence,  glancing 
guiltily  at  each  other.  Could  it  be  that  the  passion  for 
drink,  divested  of  its  usual  trappings  of  pretence,  presented 
itself  suddenly  to  the  brethren  in  its  horrid  ugliness  ? 
They  came  out  with  shame-faced  looks,  and  returned 
home  earlier  than  usual.  They  were  perfectly  sober,  and 
separated  without  the  usual  cheery  allusions  to  Work. 
Perhaps  the  conscience  was  touched,  for  when  Jane  took 
up  their  tea  she  found  the  Poet  in  his  Workshop  sitting  at 
the  table,  and  the  Artist  in  his  Studio  standing  at  his  easel. 


76  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

Before  the  one  was  a  blank  sheet  of  paper  ;  before  the 
other  was  a  blank  canvas.  Both  were  fractious,  and  both 
found  fault  with  the  tea.  After  dinner  they  took  a  bottle 
of  port,  which  Humphrey  said,  they  really  felt  to  want. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

"  I  do  not  know 
One  of  my  sex  ;  no  woman's  face  remember 
Save,  from  my  glass,  mine  own." 

IN  the  afternoon  Phillis,  who  was  "  writing  up "  her 
diary  after  the  manner  of  the  ancient  Aztec,  received 
a  visitor.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  the  girl  found  her- 
self face  to  face  with — a  lady.  Men  she  knew — chiefly 
men  of  advanced  age  ;  they  came  to  dine  with  Abraham 
Dyson.  Women-servants  she  knew,  for  she  had  a  French 
maid — imported  too  young  to  be  mischievous  ;  and  there 
had  been  a  cook  at  Highgate,  with  two  or  three  maids. 
Not  one  of  these  virgins  possessed  the  art  of  reading,  or 
they  would  never  have  been  engaged  by  Mr.  Dyson. 
Nor  was  she  encouraged  by  her  guardian  to  talk  with 
them.  Also  she  knew  that  in  the  fulness  of  time  she 
was  to  be  somehow  transferred  from  the  exclusive  so- 
ciety of  men  to  that  in  which  the  leading  part  would 
be  taken  by  ladies — women  brought  up  delicately  like 
herself,  but  not  all,  unhappily,  on  the  same  sound  funda- 
mental principle  of   oral   teaching. 

Among  the  loose  odds  and  ends  which  remained  in 
Mr.  Dyson's  portfolios,  and  where  lay  all  that  Joseph 
Jagenal  could  ever  find  to  help  in  completing  his  great 
system    of   education,   was   the   following   scrap: — 

'*  Women  brought  up  with  women  are  hindered  in 
their  perfect  development.  Let  the  girls  be  separated  from 
the  society  of  their  sex,  and  be  educated  mostly  among 
men.  In  this  way  the  receptivity  of  the  feminine  mind 
may  be  turned  to  best  account  in  the  acquirement  of 
robust  masculine  ideas.  Every  girl  may  become  a  mother; 
let   her  therefore   sit  among  men   and   listen." 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY..  77 

Perhaps  this  deprivation  of  the  society  of  her  own  sex 
was  a  greater  loss  to  Phillis  than  her  ignorance  of  reading. 
Consider  what  it  entailed.  She  grew  up  without  the  most 
rudimentary  notions  of  the  great  art  of  flirtation  ;  she  had 
never  even  heard  of  looking  out  for  an  establishment  ; 
she  had  no  idea  of  considering  every  young  man  as  a 
possible  husband  ;  she  had,  indeed,  no  glimmerings,  not 
the  faintest  streak  of  dawning  twilight  in  the  matter  of 
love  ;  while  as  for  angling,  hooking  a  big  fish  and  landing 
him,  she  was  no  better  than  a  heathen  Hottentot.  This 
was  the  most  important  loss,  but  there  were  others  ;  she 
knew  how  to  dress,  partly  by  instinct,  partly  by  looking 
at  pictures  ;  but  she  knew  nothing  about  Making-up. 
Nature,  which  gave  her  the  figure  of  Hebe,  made  this  loss 
insignificant  to  her,  though  it  is  perhaps  the  opinion  of 
Mr.  Worth  that  there  is  no  figure  so  good  but  Art  can  im- 
prove it.  But  not  to  know  about  Making-up  is,  for  a 
woman,  to  lose  a  large  part  of  useful  sympathy  for  other 
women. 

Again,  she  knew  nothing  of  the  way  in  which  girls  pour 
little  confidences,  all  about  trifles,  into  each  other's  ears  ; 
she  had  not  cultivated  that  intelligence  which  girls  can 
only  learn  from  each  other,  and  which  enables  them  to 
communicate  volumes  with  a  half-lifted  eyelid  ;  she  had  a 
man's  way  of  saying  out  what  she  thought,  and  even,  so 
far  as  her  dogmatic  training  permitted,  of  thinking  for 
herself,  She  did  not  understand  the  mystery  with  which 
women  enwrap  themselves,  partly  working  on  the  imagi- 
nation of  youth,  and  partly  through  their  love  of  secluded 
talk — a  remnant  of  barbaric  times,  and  a  proof  of  the  sub- 
jection of  the  sex  ,  the  frou-frou  of  life  was  lost  to  her. 
And  being  without  mystery,  with  the  art  of  flirtation,  with 
nothing  to  hide  and  no  object  to  gain,  Phillis  was  entirely 
free  from  the  great  vice  into  which  women  of  the  weaker 
nature  are  apt  to  fall — she  was  perfectly  and  wholly 
truthful. 

And  now  she  was  about  to  make  acquaintance  for  the 


78  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY 

first  time  with  a  lady — one  of  her  own  sex  and  of  her  own 
station. 

I  suppose  Phillis  must  have  preserved  the  characteris- 
tic instincts  of  her  womanhood,  despite  her  extraordi- 
nary training,  because  the  first  thing  she  observed  was 
that  her  visitor  was  dressed  in  a  style  quite  beyond  her 
power  of  conception  and  imperfect  taste.  So  she  gener- 
alised from  an  individual  case,  and  jumped  at  the  notion 
that  here  was  a  very  superior  woman  indeed. 

The  superiority  was  in  the  "  young  person  "  at  Melton 
and  Mowbray's,  who  designed  the  dress  ;  but  that  Phillis 
did  not  know. 

A  more  remarkable  point  with  Mrs.  Cassilis,  Phillis's 
visitor,  than  her  dress  was  her  face.  It  was  so  regular  as 
to  be  faultless.  It  might  have  been  modelled,  and  so 
have  served  for  a  statue.  It  was  also  as  cold  as  a  face  of 
marble.  Men  have  prayed — men  who  have  fallen  into 
feminine  traps — to  be  delivered  from  every  species  of 
woman  except  the  cold  woman  ;  even  King  Solomon,  who 
had  great  opportunities,  including  long  life,  of  studying 
the  sex,  mentions  her  not ;  and  yet  I  think  that  she  is  the 
worst  of  all.  Lord,  give  us  tender-hearted  wives  !  When 
we  carve  our  ideal  woman  in  marble,  we  do  not  generally 
choose  the  wise  Minerva  nor  the  chaste  Diana,  but  Venus, 
soft-eyed,  lissom,  tender — and  generally  true. 

Mrs.  Cassilis  called.  As  she  entered  the  room  she  saw 
a  tall  and  beautiful  girl,  with  eyes  of  a  deep  brown,  who 
rose  to  greet  her  with  a  little  timidity.  She  was  taken  by 
surprise.  She  expected  to  find  a  rough  and  rather  vulgar 
young  woman,  of  no  style  and  unformed  manners.  She 
saw  before  her  a  girl  whose  attitude  spoke  unmistakably 
of  delicacy  and  culture.  Whatever  else  Miss  Fleming 
might  be,  she  was  clearly  a  lady.  That  was  immediately 
apparent,  and  Mrs.  Cassilis  was  not  likely  to  make  a  mis- 
take on  a  point  of  such  vital  importance.  A  young  lady 
of  graceful  figure,  most  attractive  face,  and,  which  was  all 
the  more  astonishing,  considering  her  education,  perfectly 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  79 

dressed.  Phillis,  in  fact,  was  attired  in  the  same  simple 
morning  costume  in  which  she  had  taken  her  early  morn- 
ing walk.  On  the  table  before  her  were  her  sketch-book 
and  her  pencils. 

Mrs.  Cassilis  was  dressed,  for  her  part,  in  robes  which 
it  had  taken  the  highest  talent  of  Regent  Street  to 
produce.  Her  age  was  about  thirty.  Her  cold  face 
shone  for  a  moment  with  the  wintery  light  of  a 
forced  smile,  but  her  eyes  did  not  soften,  as  she  took 
Phillis's   hand. 

Phillis's  pulse  beat  a  little  faster,  in  spite  of  her  courage. 

Art  face  to  face  with  Nature.  The  girl  just  as  she  left 
her  nunnery,  ignorant  of  mankind,  before  the  perfect 
woman  of  the  world.  They  looked  curiously  in  each 
other's  eyes.  Now  the  first  lesson  taught  by  the  world  is 
the  way  to  dissemble.  Mrs.  Cassilis  said  to  herself,  "  Here 
is  a  splendid  girl.  She  is  not  what  I  expected  to  see. 
This  is  a  girl  to  cultivate  and  bring  out — a  girl  to  do  one 
credit."     But  she  said  aloud — 

"  Miss  Fleming  ?  I  am  sure  it  is.  You  are  exactly  the 
sort  of  a  girl  I  expected  " 

Then  she  sat  down  and  looked  at  her  comfortably. 

"  I  am  the  wife  of  your  late  guardian's  nephew — Mr. 
Gabriel  Cassilis.  You  have  never  met  him  yet ;  but  I 
hope  you  will  very  soon  make  his  acquaintance." 

'*  Thank  you,"  said  Phillis  simply, 

"We  used  to  think,  until  Mr.  Dyson  died  and  his  pre- 
posterous will  was  read,  that  his  eccentric  behaviour  was 
partly  your  fault.  But  when  we  found  that  he  had  left 
you  nothing,  of  course  we  felt  that  we  had  done  you  an 
involuntary  wrong.  And  the  will  was  made  when  you 
were  a  mere  child,  and  could  have  no  voice  or  wish  in  the 
matter." 

"  I  had  plenty  of  money,"  said  Phillis  ;  "  why  should 
poor  Mr.  Dyson  want  to  leave  me  any  more  ? " 

Quite  untaught.  As  if  any  one  could  have  too  much 
money  ! 


So  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"  Forty  thousand  pounds  a  year  !  and  all  going  to 
Female  education.  Not  respectable  Female  education. 
If  it  had  been  left  to  Girton  College,  or  even  to  find- 
ing bread-and-butter,  with  the  Catechism  and  Con- 
tentment, for  charity  girls  in  poke  bonnets,  it  would 
have  been  less  dreadful.  But  to  bring  up  young 
ladies  as  you  were  brought  up,  my  poor  Miss  Flem- 
ing " 

"  Am  I  not  respectable  ? "  asked  Phillis,  as  humbly 
as  a  West  Indian  nigger  before  emancipation  asking  if 
he  was  not  a  man  and  a  brother. 

"  My  dear  child,  I  hear  you  cannot  even  read  and 
write." 

"  That  is  quite  true." 

"  But  everybody  learns  to  read  and  write.  All  the  Sun- 
day school  children  even  know  how  to  read  and  write." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  a  misfortune  for  the  Sunday  school 
children,"  Phillis  calmly  observed  ;  "  it  would  very  likely 
be  better  for  the  Sunday  school  children  were  they  taught 
more  useful  things."  Here  Phillis  was  plagiarising — using 
Mr.  Dyson's  own  words. 

"  At  least  every  one  in  society  knows  them.  Miss 
Fleming,  I  am  ten  years  older  than  you,  and,  if  you  will 
only  trust  me,  I  will  give  you  such  advice  and  assistance 
as  I  can." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Phillis,  with  a  little  distrust, 
of  which  she  was  ashamed.  "  I  know  that  I  must  be 
very  ignorant,  because  I  have  already  seen  so  much,  that 
I  never  suspected  before.  If  you  will  only  tell  me  of  my 
deficiencies  I  will  try  to  repair  them.  And  I  can  learn 
reading  and  writing  any  time,  you  know,  if  it  is  at  all 
necessary." 

"  Then  let  us  consider.  My  poor  girl,  I  fear  you  have 
to  learn  the  very  rudiments  of  society.  Of  course  you 
are  quite  ignorant  of  things  that  people  talk  about.  Books 
are  out  of  the  question.  Music  and  concerts  ;  art  and 
pictures  ;  china — perhaps   Mr.    Dyson   collected  ? " 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  8l 

"No." 

"  A  pity.  China  would  be  a  great  help  ;  the  opera  and 
theatres  ;  balls  and  dancing  ;  the  rink  " 

'•What  is  the  rink  ?  "  asked  Phillis. 

"  The  latest  addition  to  the  arts  of  flirtation  and  killing 
time.  Perhaps  you  can  fall  back  upon  Church  matters. 
.\re  you  a  Ritualist  ?  " 

"  What  is  that } " 

"  My  dear  girl  " — Mrs.  Cassilis  looked  unutterable  hor- 
ror as  a  thought  struck  her — "  did  you  actually  never  go 
to  church  ? " 

"  No.  Mr.  Dyson  used  to  read  prayers  every  day.  Why 
should  people  go  to  church  when  they  pray  ? " 

"  Why  ?  why  ?  Because  people  in  society  all  go  ;  be- 
cause you  must  set  an  example  to  the  lower  orders.  Dear 
me  !  It  is  very  shocking  ?  and  girls  are  all  expected  to 
take  such  an  interest  in  religion.  But  the  first  thing  is  to 
learn  reading.' 

She  had  been  carrying  a  little  box  in  her  hands  all  this 
time,  which  she  now  placed  on  the  table  and  opened.  It 
contained  small  wooden  squares,  with  gaudy  pictures 
pasted  on  them. 

"  This  is  a  Pictorial  Alphabet  :  an  introduction  to  all 
education.  Let  me  show  you  how  to  use  it.  What  is 
this  ? " 

She  held  up  one  square. 

"  It  is  a  very  bad  picture,  abominably  coloured,  of  a 
hatchet  or  a  kitchen  chopper." 

"  An  axe,  my  dear — A,  x,  e.  The  initial  letter  A  is  be- 
low in  its  two  forms.     And  this  ? " 

"  That  is  worse.  I  suppose  it  is  meant  for  a  cow.  What 
a  cow ! " 

"  Bull,  my  dear— B,  u,  l,  l,  bull.  The  initial  B  is  be- 
low.' 

"  And  is  this,"  asked  Phillis,  with  great  contempt,  "  the 
way  to  learn  reading  ?  A  kitchen  chopper  stands  for  A, 
and  a  cow  with  her  legs  out  of  drawing  stands  for  B.    Un- 


82  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

less  I  can  draw  my  cows  for  myself,  Mrs.  Cassilis,  I  shall 
not  try  to  learn  reading." 

"  You  can  draw,  then  ?  " 

"  I  draw  a  little,''  said  Phillis.  "  Not  so  well,  of  course, 
as  girls  brought  up  respectably." 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  Miss  Fleming,  if  I  say  that  sar- 
casm is  not  considered  good  style.     It  fails  to  attract." 

Good  style,  thought  Phillis,  means  talking  so  as  to  attract. 

"  Do  let  me  draw  you,"  said  Phillis.  Her  temper  was 
not  faultless,  and  it  was  rising  by  degrees,  so  that  she 
wanted  the  relief  of  silence.  **  Do  let  me  draw  you  as 
you  sit  there." 

She  did  not  wait  for  permission,  but  sketched  in  a  few 
moments  a  profile  portrait  of  her  visitor,  in  which  some- 
how the  face,  perfectly  rendered  in  its  coldness  and 
strength,  was  without  the  look  which  its  owner  always 
thought  was  there — the  look  which  invites  sympathy. 
The  real  unsympathetic  nature,  caught  in  a  moment  by 
some  subtle  artist's  touch,  was  there  instead.  Mrs.  Cassi- 
lis looked  at  it,  and  an  angry  flush  crossed  her  face,  which 
Phillis,  wondering  why,  noted. 

"  You  caricature  extremely  well.  I  congratulate  you  on 
that  power,  but  it  is  a  dangerous  accomplishment — even 
more  dangerous  than  the  practice  of  sarcasm.  The  girl 
who  indulges  in  the  latter  at  most  fails  to  attract ;  but 
the  caricaturist  repels." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Phillis,  innocent  of  any  attempt  to  carica- 
ture, but  trying  to  assimilate  this  strange  dogmatic 
teaching. 

"  We  must  always  remember  that  the  most  useful 
weapons  in  a  girl's  hands  are  those  of  submission, 
faith  and  reverence.  Men  hate — they  hate  and  de- 
test— women  who  think  for  themselves.  They  posi- 
tively loathe  the  woman  who  dares  turn  them  into 
ridicule." 

She  looked  as  if  she  could  be  one  of  the  few  who  possess 
that  daring. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  83 

"  Fortunately,"  she  went  on,  "  such  women  are  rare. 
Even  among  the  strong-minded  crew,  the  shrieking  sister- 
hood, most  of  them  are  obliged  to  worship  some  man  or 
other  of  their  own  school." 

"  I  don't  understand.  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Cassilis,  that  I 
am  so  stupid.  I  say  what  I  think,  and  you  tell  me  I  am 
sarcastic." 

"  Girls  in  society  never  say  what  they  think.  They 
assent,  or  at  best  ask  a  question  timidly." 

"  And  I  make  a  little  pencil  sketch  of  you,  and  you  tell 
me  I  am  a  caricaturist." 

"  Girls  who  can  draw  must  draw  in  the  conventional 
manner  recognised  by  society.  They  do  not  draw  like- 
nesses ;  they  copy  flowers,  and  sometimes  draw  angels, 
and  crosses.  To  please  men  they  draw  soldiers  and 
horses." 

"  But  why  cannot  girls  draw  what  they  please  ?  And 
why  must  they  try  to  attract  ? " 

Mrs.  Cassilis  looked  at  this  most  innocent  of  girls  with 
misgiving.  Could  she  be  so  ignorant  as  she  seemed,  or 
was  she  pretending. 

"  Why  ?  Phillis  Fleming,  only  ask  me  that  question 
again  in  six  months'  time  if  you  dare." 

Phillis  shook  her  head  ;  she  was  clearly  out  of  her 
depth. 

"  Have  you  any  other  accomplishments  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  not.  I  can  play  a  little.  Mr.  Dyson 
liked  my  playing  ;  but  it  is  all  from  memory  and  from 
ear." 

"Will  you,  if  you  do  not  mind,  play  something  to 
me?" 

Victoria  Cassilis  cared  no  more  for  music  than  the 
deaf  adder  which  hath  no  understanding.  By  dint 
of  much  teaching,  however,  she  had  learned  to  exe- 
cute creditably.  The  playing  of  Phillis,  sweet,  spon- 
taneous, and  full  of  feeling,  had  no  power  to  touch  her 
heart. 


84  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"Ye-yes,"  she  said,  "that  is  the  sort  of  playing  which 
some  young  men  like:  not  those  young  men  from  Oxford, 
who  '  follow '  Art,  and  pretend  to  understand  good  music. 
You  may  see  them  asleep  at  afternoon  recitals.  You 
must  play  at  small  parties  only,  Phillis.     Can  you  sing  ?" 

*'  I  sing  as  I  play,"  said  Philis,  rising  and  shutting  the 
piano.  "That  is  only,  I  suppose,  for  small  parties."  The 
colour  came  into  her  cheeks,  and  her  brown  eyes  bright- 
ened. She  was  accustomed  to  think  that  her  playing 
gave  pleasure.  Then  she  reproached  herself  for  ingrati- 
tude, and  she  asked  pardon.  "  I  am  cross  with  myself  for 
being  so  deficient.  Pray  forgive  me,  Mrs.  Cassilis.  It  is 
very  kind  of  you  to  take  all  this  trouble." 

"  My  dear,  you  are  a  hundred  times  better  than  I  ex- 
pected." 

Phillis  remembered  what  she  had  said  ten  minutes  be- 
fore, but  was  silent. 

"  A  hundred  times  better.     Can  you  dance,  my  dear  ?" 

"  No.  Antoinette  tells  me  how  she  used  to  dance  with 
the  villagers  when  she  was  a  little  girl  at  Yport.  ' 

"  That  can  be  easily  learned.     Do  you  ride  ?" 

At  any  other  time  Phillis  would  have  replied  in  the 
affirmative.  Now  she  only  asserted  a  certain  power  of 
sticking  on,  acquired  on  pony- back  and  in  a  paddock. 
Mrs.  Cassilis  sighed. 

"  After  all,  a  few  lessons  will  give  you  a  becoming  seat. 
Nothing  so  useful  as  clever  horsemanship.  But  how  shall 
we  disguise  the  fact  that  you  cannot  read  or  write  ?" 

"  I  shall  not  try  to  disguise  it,"  PhiUis  cried,  jealous  o( 
Mr,  Dyson's  good  name. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  we  come  now  to  the  most  important 
question  of  all.     Where  do  you  get  your  dresses  ?" 

"  O  Mrs.  Cassilis  !  do  not  say  that  my  dresses  are  cal- 
culated to  repel !"  cried  poor  Phillis,  her  spirit  quite 
broken  by  this  time.  "  Antoinette  and  I  made  this  one 
between  us.  Sometimes  I  ordered  them  at  Highgate,  but 
I  like  my  own  best." 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  85 

Mrs.  Cassilis  put  up  a  pair  of  double  eye-glasses,  be- 
cause they  were  now  arrived  at  a  really  critical  stage  of 
the  catechism.  There  was  something  in  the  simple  dress 
which  forced  her  admiration.  It  was  quite  plain,  and, 
compared  with  her  own,  as  a  daisy  is  to  a  dahlia. 

"  It  is  a  very  nice  dress,"  she  said  critically.  "  Whether 
it  is  your  figure,  or  your  own  taste,  or  material,  I  do  not 
know  ;  but  you  are  dressed  perfectly,  Miss  Fleming.  No 
young  lady  could  dress  better." 

Women  meet  on  the  common  ground  of  dress.  Phillis 
blushed  with  pleasure.  At  all  events,  she  and  her  critic 
had  something  on  which  they  could  agree. 

"  I  will  come  to-morrow  morning,  and  we  will  examine 
your  wardrobe  together,  if  you  will  allow  me  ;  and  then 
we  will  go  to  Melton  &  Mowbray's.  And  I  will  write  to 
Mr.  Jagenal,  asking  him  to  bring  you  to  dinner  in  the 
evening,  if  you  will  come." 

**I  should  like  it  very  much,"  said  Phillis.  "But  you 
have  made  me  a  little  afraid." 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid  at  all.  And  it  will  be  a  very 
small  party.  Two  or  three  friends  of  my  husband's,  and 
two  men  who  have  just  come  home  and  published  a  book, 
which  is  said  to  be  clever.  One  is  a  brother  of  Lord  Isle  • 
worth,  Mr.  Ronald  Dunquerque,  and  the  other  is  a  Cap- 
tain Ladds.    You  have  only  to  listen  and  look  interested." 

"  Then  I  will  come.  And  it  is  very  kind  of  you,  Mrs. 
Cassilis,  especially  since  you  do  not  like  me." 

That  was  quite  true,  but  not  a  customary  thing  to  be 
said.  Phillis  perceived  dislike  in  the  tones  of  her  visitor's 
voice,  in  her  eyes,  in  her  manner.  Did  Mrs.  Cassilis  dis- 
like her  for  her  fresh  and  unsophisticated  nature,  or  for 
her  beauty,  or  for  the  attractiveness  which  breathed  from 
every  untaught  look  and  gesture  of  the  girl  ?  Sweden- 
borg  taught  that  the  lower  nature  cannot  love  the  nobler  ; 
that  tiie  highest  heavens  are  open  to  all  who  like  to  go 
there,  but  the  atmosphere  is  found  congenial  to  very  few. 

"  Not  like  you  !"  Mrs.  Cassilis,  hardly  conscious  of  any 


86  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

dislike,  answered  after  her  kind.  "  My  dear,  I  hope  we 
shall  like  each  other  very  much.  Do  not  let  fancies  get 
into  your  pretty  head.  I  shall  try  to  be  your  friend,  if 
you  will  let  me." 

Again  the  wintry  smile  upon  the  lips,  and  the  lifting  of 
the  cold  eyes,  which  smiled  not. 

But  Phillis  was  deceived  by  the  warmth  of  the  words. 
She  took  her  visitor's  hand  and  kissed  it.     The  act  was  a 
homage  to  the  woman  of  superior  knowledge. 
"  Oh  yes,"  she  murmured,  "if  you  only  will." 
"  I  shall  call  you  Phillis.     My  name  is  Victoria." 
"  And  you  will  tell  me  more  about  girls  in  society." 
"  I  will  show  you  girls  in  society,  which  is  a  great  deal 
better  for  you,"  said  Mrs.  Cassilis. 

"  I  looked  at  the  girls  I  saw  yesterday  as  we  drove 
through  the  streets.  Some  of  them  were  walking  like 
this."  She  had  been  standing  during  most  of  this  conver- 
sation, and  now  she  began  walking  across  the  room  in 
that  ungraceful  pose  of  the  body  which  was  more  affected 
last  year  than  at  present.  Ladies  do  occasionally  have 
intervals  of  lunacy  in  the  matter  of  taste,  but  if  you  give 
them  time  they  come  round  again.  Even  crinolines  went 
out  at  last,  after  the  beauty  of  a  whole  generation  had 
been  spoiled  by  them,  "Then  there  were  others,  who 
walked  like  this."  She  laid  her  head  on  one  side,  and 
affected  a  languid  air,  which  I  have  myself  remarked  as 
being  prevalent  in  the  High  Street  of  Islington.  Now  the 
way  from  Highgate  to  Carnarvon  Squire  lies  through  that 
thoroughfare.  "  Then  there  were  the  boys.  I  never 
dreamed  of  such  a  lot  of  boys.  And  they  were  all  whist- 
ling.    This  was  the  tune." 

She  threw  her  head  back,  and  began  to  whistle  the 
popular  song  of  last  spring.  You  know  what  it  was.  It 
came  between  the  favourite  air  from  the  J*'i7/e  de  Madame 
Angot  and  that  other  sweet  melody,  "  Tommy,  make 
room  for  your  Uncle,"  and  was  called  "  Hold  the  Fort." 
It  refreshed  the  souls  of  Revivalists  in  Her  Majesty's 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  87 

Theatre,  and  of  all  the  street-boys  in  this  great  Babylon. 

Mrs,  Cassilis  positively  shrieked  : 

"  My  dear,  dear  dear  girl,"  she  cried,  "  you  MUST 
not  whistle  !" 

"  Is  it  wrong  to  whistle  ? ' 

**  Not  morally  wrong,  I  suppose.  Girls  never  ,do  any- 
thing morally  wrong.  But 'it  is  far  worse,  Phillis,  fr.r 
worse  ;  it  is  unspeakably  vulgar.' 

"  Oh,"  said  Phillis,  "  I  am  so  sorry  !  " 

"  And,  my  dear,  one  thing  more.  Do  not  cultivate  the 
power  of  mimicry,  which  you  undoubtedly  possess.  Men 
are  afraid  of  young  ladies  who  can  imitate  them.  For 
actresses,  authors,  artists,  and  common  people  of  that 
sort,  of  course  it  does  not  matter.  But  for  us  it  is  differ- 
ent. And  now,  Phillis,  I  must  leave  you  till  to-morrow. 
I  have  great  hopes  of  you.  You  have  an  excellent 
figure,  a  very  pretty  and  attractive  face,  winning  eyes, 
and  a  taste  in  dress  which  only  wants  cultivation. 
And  that  we  will  begin  to-morrow  at  Melton  and 
Mowbray's." 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Phillis,  clapping  her  hands,  "  that  will 
be  delightful  !     I  have  never  seen  a  shop  yet." 

"  She  has — never — seen — a  Shop  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Cassilis. 
"  Child,  it  is  hard  indeed  to  realise  your  Awful  condition 
of  mind.  That  a  girl  of  nineteen  should  be  able  to  say 
that  she  has  never  seen  a  Shop  !  My  dear,  your  educa- 
tion has  been  absolutely  unchristian.  And  poor  Mr.  Dyson, 
I  fear,  cut  off  suddenly  in  his  sins,  without  the  chance  of 
repentance." 

CHAPTER  VII. 

"  Bid  me  discourse,  I  will  enchant  thine  ear." 

10SEPH    JAGENAL   and   his    charge   were  the  last 
arrivals   at   Mrs.    Cassilis's    dinner.      It    was   not   a 
rge  party.     There  were  two  ladies  of  the  conventional 
type,  well  dressed,  well  looking,  and  not  particularly  in- 


88  THE    COLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

teresting  ;  with  them  their  two  husbands,  young  men 
of  an  almost  preternatural  solemnity — such  solemnity 
as  sometimes  results  from  a  too  concentrated  atten- 
tion to  the  Money  Market.  They  were  there  as  friends 
of  Mr.  Cassilis,  whom  they  regarded  with  the  reverence 
justly  due  to  success.  They  longed  to  speak  to  him  pri- 
vately on  investments,  but  did  not  dare.  There  were  also 
two  lions,  newly  captured.  Ladds,  the  "  Dragoon  "  of  the 
joint  literary  venture — "  The  Little  Sphere,  by  the 
Dragoon  and  the  Younger  Son  " — is  standing  in  that  con- 
templative attitude  by  which  hungry  men,  awaiting  the 
announcement  of  dinner,  veil  an  indecent  eagerness  to 
begin.  The  other,  the  "  Younger  Son,"  is  talking  to  Mr. 
Cassilis. 

Phillis  remarked  that  the  room  was  furnished  in  a  man- 
ner quite  beyond  anything  she  knew.  Where  would  be 
the  dingy  old  chairs,  sofas,  and  tables  of  Mr.  Dyson's,  or 
the  solid  splendour  of  Joseph  Jagenal's  drawing-room, 
compared  with  the  glories  of  decorative  art  which  Mrs. 
Cassilis  had  called  to  her  aid  ?  She  had  no  time  to  make 
more  than  a  general  survey  as  she  went  to  greet  her  hos- 
tess. 

Mrs.  Cassilis,  for  her  part,  observed  that  Phillis  was 
dressed  carefully,  and  was  looking  her  best.  She  had  on 
a  simple  white  dress  of  that  soft  stuff  called,  I  think,  In- 
dian muslin,  which  falls  in  graceful  folds.  A  pale  laven- 
der sash  relieved  the  monotony  of  the  white,  and  set  off 
her  shapely  figure.  Her  hair,  done  up  in  the  simplest 
fashion,  was  adorned  with  a  single  white  rose.  Her 
cheeks  were  a  little  flushed  with  excitement,  but  her  eyes 
were  steady. 

Phillis  stole  a  glance  at  the  other  ladies.  They  were 
dressed,  she  was  glad  to  observe,  in  the  same  style  as  her- 
self, but  not  better.     That  naturally  raised  her  spirits. 

Then  Mrs.  Cassilis  introduced  her  husband. 

When  Phillis  next  day  attempted  to  reproduce  her  im- 
pressions of  the  evening,  she  had  no  difficulty  in  recording 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  89 

the  likeness  of  Mr.  Gabriel  Cassilis  with  great  fidelity.  He 
was  exactly  like  old  Time. 

The  long  lean  limbs,  the  pronounced  features,  the 
stooping  figure,  the  forelock  which  our  enemy  will  not 
allow  us  to  take,  the  head,  bald  save  for  that  single  orna- 
mental curl  and  a  fringe  of  gray  hair  over  the  ears — all 
the  attributes  of  Time  were  there  except  the  scythe. 
Perhaps  he  kept  that  at  his  office. 

He  was  a  very  rich  man.  His  house  was  in  Kensington 
Palace  Gardens,  a  fact  which  speaks  volumes  ;  its  furnish- 
ing was  a  miracle  of  modern  art ;  his  paintings  were  un- 
doubted ;  his  portfolios  of  water-colours  were  worth 
many  thousands  ;  and  his  horses  were  perfect. 

He  was  a  director  of  many  companies — but  you  cannot 
live  in  Kensington  Palace  Garden  by  directing  companies 
and  he  had  an  office  in  the  City  which  consisted  of  three 
rooms.  In  the  first  were  four  or  five  clerks,  always  writing; 
in  the  second  was  the  secretary,  always  writing  ;  in  the 
third  was  Mr.  Gabriel  Cassilis  himself,  always  giving  audi- 
ence. 

He  married  at  sixty-three,  because  he  wanted  an  estab- 
lishment in  his  old  age.  He  was  too  old  to  expect  love 
from  a  woman,  and  too  young  to  fall  in  love  with  a  girl. 
He  did  not  marry  in  order  to  make  a  pet  of  his  wife — in- 
deed, he  might  as  well  have  tried  stroking  a  statue  of 
Minerva  as  petting  Victoria  Pengelley  ;  and  he  made  no 
secret  of  his  motive  in  proposing  for  the  young  lady.  As 
delicately  as  possible  he  urged  that,  though  her  family  was 
good,  her  income  was  small ;  that  it  is  better  to  be  rich 
and  married  than  poor  and  single  ;  and  he  offered,  if  she 
consented  to  become  his  wife,  to  give  her  all  that  she 
could  wish  for  or  ask  on  the  material  and  artistic  side  of 
life. 

Victoria  Pengelley,  on  receipt  of  the  offer,  which  was 
communicated  by  a  third  person,  her  cousin,  behaved 
very  strangely.  She  first  refused  absolutely  ;  then  she  de- 
clared that   she  would   have  taken  the    man,  but  that 


9©  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

it  was  now  impossible  ;  then  she  retracted  the  last 
statement,  and,  after  a  week  of  agitation,  accepted  the 
offer. 

"  And  I  must  say,  Victoria,"  said  her  cousin,  "that  you 
have  made  a  strange  fuss  about  accepting  an  offer  from 
one  of  the  richest  men  in  London.  He  is  elderly,  it  is 
true  ;  but  the  difference  between  eight  aud  twenty  and 
sixty  lies  mostly  in  the  imagination.  I  will  write  to  Mr. 
Cassilis  to-night.' 

Which  she  did,  and  they  were  married. 

She  trembled  a  great  deal  during  the  marriage  cere- 
mony. Mr.  Cassilis  was  pleased  at  this  appearance  of 
emotion,  which  he  attributed  to  causes  quite  remote  from 
any  thought  in  the  lady's  mind.  "  Calm  to  all  outward 
seeming,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  Victoria  is  capable  of  the 
deepest  passion." 

They  had  now  been  married  between  two  and  and  three 
years.     They  had  one  child — a  boy. 

It  is  only  to  be  added  that  Mr.  Cassilis  settled  the  sum  of 
fifteen  thousand  pounds  upon  the  wedding-day  on  his 
wife,  and  that  they  lived  together  in  that  perfect  happi- 
ness which  is  to  be  expected  from  well-bred  people  who 
marry  without  pretending  to  love  each  other. 

Their  dinners  were  beyond  praise;  the  wine  was  incom- 
parable ;  but  their  evenings  were  a  little  frigid.  A  sense 
of  cold  splendour  filled  the  house — the  child  which  be- 
longs to  new  things  and  to  new  men. 

The  new  man  thirty  years  ago  was  loud,  ostentatious, 
and  vulgar.  The  new  man  now — there  are  a  great  many 
more  of  them — is  very  often  quiet,  unpretending,  and 
well-bred.  He  understands  art,  and  is  a  patron  ;  he  en- 
joys the  advantages  which  his  wealth  affords  him  ;  he 
knows  how  to  bear  his  riches  with  dignity  and  with  re- 
serve. The  only  objection  to  him  is  that  he  wants  to  go 
where  other  men,  who  were  new  in  the  last  generation, 
go,  and  do  what  they  do. 

Mr.  Cassilis  welcomed  Miss  Fleming  and  Joseph  Jage- 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  9I 

nal,  and  resumed  his  conversation  with  Jack  Dunquerque. 
That  young  man  looked  much  the  same  as  when  we  saw 
him  last  on  the  slopes  of  the  Sierra  Nevada.  His  tall 
figure  had  not  filled  out,  but  his  slight  moustache  had 
just  a  little  increased  in  size.  And  now  he  looked  a  good 
deal  bored. 

♦*  I  have  never,  I  confess,"  his  host  was  saying,  wield- 
ing a  double  eye-glass  instead  of  his  scythe, — "  I  have 
never  been  attracted  by  the  manners  and  customs  of  un- 
civilised people.  My  sympathies  cease,  I  fear,  where 
Banks  end." 

"  You  are  only  interested  in  the  country  of  Lombardy  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  very  good  :  precisely  so." 

"  Outside  the  pale  of  Banks  men  certainly  carry  their 
money  about  with  them  " 

"  Which  prevents  the  accumulation  of  wealth,  my  dear 
sir.  Civilisation  was  born  when  men  learned  to  confide 
in  each  other.  Modern  history  begins  with  the  Fuggers, 
of  whom  you  may  have  read." 

"  I  assure  you  I  never  did,"  said  Jack  truthfully. 

Then  dinner  was  announced. 

Phillis  found  herself  on  the  right  of  Mr.  Cassilis.  Next 
to  her  sat  Captain  Ladds.  Mr.  Dunquerque  was  at  the 
opposite  corner  of  the  table — he  had  given  his  arm  to 
Mrs.  Cassilis. 

Mrs.  Cassilis,  Phillis  saw,  was  watching  her  by  occa- 
sional glances.  The  girl  felt  a  little  anxious,  but  she  was 
not  awkward.  After  all,  she  thought,  the  customs  of 
society  at  a  dinner-table  cannot  be  very  different  from 
those  observed  and  taught  her  by  Mr.  Dyson.  Perhaps 
her  manner  of  adjusting  things  was  a  little  wanting  in 
finish  and  delicacy — too  downright.  Also,  Mrs.  Cassilis 
observed  she  made  no  attempt  to  talk  with  Captain 
Ladds,  her  neighbour,  but  was,  curiously  enough,  deeply 
interested  in  the  conversation  of  Mr.  Cassilis. 

Ladds  was  too  young  for  Phillis,  despite  his  five  and 
thirty  years.     Old  men  and  greybeards  she  knew.    Young 


92  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

men  she  did  not  know.  She  could  form  no  guess  what 
line  of  talk  would  be  adopted  by  a  young  man — one  who 
had  a  deep  bass  voice  when  he  spoke,  and  attacked  his 
dinner  with  a  vigour  past  understanding.  Phillis  was  in- 
terested in  him,  and  a  little  afraid  lest  he  should  talk  to 
her. 

Others  watched  her  too.  Jack  Dunquerque,  his  view  a 
little  intercepted  by  the  epergne,  lifted  furtive  glances  at 
the  bright  and  pretty  girl  at  the  other  end  of  the  table, 
Joseph  Jagenal  looked  at  her  with  honest  pride  in  the 
beauty  of  his  ward. 

They  talked  politics,  but  not  in  the  way  to  which  she 
was  accustomed.  Mr,  Dyson  and  his  brother  greybeards 
were  like  Cassandra,  Elijah,  Jeremiah,  and  a  good  many 
prophets  of  the  present  day,  inasmuch  as  the  more  they 
discussed  affairs  the  more  they  prophesied  disaster.  So 
that  Phillis  had  learned  from  them  to  regard  the  dreadful 
future  with  terror.  Every  day  seemed  to  make  these 
sages  more  dismal,  Phillis  had  not  yet  learned  that  the 
older  we  get  the  wiser  we  grow,  and  the  wiser  we  grow 
the  more  we  tremble  ;  that  those  are  most  light-hearted 
who  know  the  least.  At  this  table,  politics  were  talked  in 
a  very  different  manner  ;  they  laughed  where  the  sages 
wagged  their  heads  and  groaned  ;  they  even  discussed, 
with  a  familiarity  which  seemed  to  drive  out  anxiety,  the 
favorite  bugbear  of  her  old  politicians,  the  continental 
supremacy  of  Germany, 

The  two  young  City  men,  who  were  as  solemn  as  a  pair 
of  Home  Secretaries,  listened  to  their  host  with  an  eager 
interest  and  deference  which  the  other  two,  who  were  not 
careful  about  investments,  did  not  imitate,  Phillis  observed 
the  difference,  and  wondered  what  it  meant.  Then  Mr. 
Cassilis,  as  if  he  had  communicated  as  many  ideas  about 
Russia  as  he  thought  desirable,  turned  the  conversation 
upon  travelling,  in  the  interests  of  the  Dragoon  and  the 
younger  son, 

"  I  suppose,"  he   said,  addressing   Jack,  "  that   in  your 


THE    GOLDLN    liUTTERFLY.  93 

travels  among  the  islanders  you  practised  the  primitive 
mode  of  Barter." 

"  We  did  ;  and  they  cheated  us  when  they  could.  Which 
shows  that  they  have  improved  upon  the  primitive  man.  I 
suppose  he  was  honest." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  the  host.  "  The  most  honest 
classes  in  the  world  are  the  richest.  People  who  want  to 
get  things  always  have  a  tendency  to  be  dishonest.  Eng- 
land is  the  most  honest  nation,  because  it  is  the  richest. 
France  is  the  next.  Germany,  you  see,  which  is  a  poor 
country,  yielded  to  the  temptations  of  poverty  and  took 
Sleswick-Holstein,  Alasce  and  Lorraine.  I  believe  that 
men  began  with  dishonesty," 

"  Adam,  for  example,"  said  Ladds,  "  took  what  he 
ought  not  to  have  taken." 

"  O  Captain  Ladds  !  "  this  was  one  of  two  ladies,  she 
who  had  read  up  the  new  book  before  coming  to  the  din- 
ner, and  had  so  far  an  advantage  over  the  other — "  that  is 
just  like  one  of  the  wicked  things,  the  delightfully  wicked 
things,  in  the  Little  Sphere.  Now  we  know  which  of  the 
two  did  the  wicked  things." 

"  It  was  the  other  man,"  said  Ladds. 

"  Is  it  fair  to  ask,"  the  lady  went  on,  "  how  you  wrote 
the  book  ? " 

She  was  one  of  those  who,  could  she  get  the  chance, 
would  ask  Messieurs  Erckmaan  and  Chatrian  themselves 
to  furnish  her  with  a  list  of  the  paragraphs  and  the  ideas 
due  to  each  in  their  last  novel. 

Ladds  looked  as  if  the  question  was  beyond  his  compre- 
hension. 

At  last  he  answered  slowly — 

*'  Steel  pen.     The  other  man  had  a  gold  pen." 

"  No — no  ;  I  mean  did  you  write  one  chapter  and  your 
coUaborateur  the  next,  or  how  ?  " 

"  Let  me  think  it  over,"  replied  Ladds,  as  if  it  were  a 
conundrum. 

Mrs.  Cassilis  came  to  the  rescue. 


94  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  At  all  events,"  she  said,  "  the  great  thing  is  that  the 
book  is  a  success.  I  have  not  read  it,  but  I  hear  there  are 
many  clever  and  witty  things  in  it.  Also  some  wicked 
things.  Of  course,  if  you  write  wickedness  you  are  sure 
of  an  audience.  I  don't  think,  Mr.  Dunquerque,"  she 
added,  with  a  smile,  "  that  it  is  the  business  of  gentlemen 
to  attack  existing  institutions." 

Jack  shook  his  head. 

"  It  was  not  my  writing.  It  was  the  other  man.  I  did 
what  I  could  to  tone  him  do^K.i." 

*'  Have  you  read  the  immortal  work  ? "  Ladds  asked  his 
neighbour.  He  had  not  spoken  to  her  yet,  but  he  had 
eyes  in  his  head,  and  he  was  gradually  getting  interested 
in  the  silent  girl  who  sat  beside  him,  and  listened  with 
such  rapt  interest  to  the  conversation. 

This  great  and  manifest  interest  was  the  only  sign  to 
show  that  Phillis  was  not  accustomed  to  dinners  in 
society. 

Ladds  thought  that  she  must  be  some  shy  maiden  from 
the  country — a  little  "  rustical "  perhaps.  He  noticed  now 
that  her  eyes  were  large  and  bright,  that  her  features  were 
clear  and  delicate,  that  she  was  looking  at  himself  with  a 
curious  pity,  as  if,  which  was  indeed  the  case,  she  believed 
the  statement  about  his  having  written  the  wicked  things. 
And  then  he  wondered  how  so  bright  a  girl  had  been  able 
to  listen  to  the  prosy  dogmatics  of  Mr.  Cassilis.  Yet  she 
had  listened,  and  with  pleasure. 

Phillis  was  at  that  stage  in  her  worldly  education  when 
she  would  have  listened  with  pleasure  to  anybody — Mr. 
Moody,  a  lecture  on  astonomy,  a  penny-reading,  an  ama- 
teur dramatic  performance,  or  an  essay  in  the  Edinburgh. 
For  everything  was  new.  She  was  like  the  blind  man  who 
received  his  sight  and  saw  men,  like  trees,  walking.  Every 
new  face  was  a  new  world  ;  every  fresh  speaker  was  a 
new  revelation.  No  one  to  her  was  stupid,  was  a  bore, 
was  insincere,  was  spiteful,  was  envious,  or  a  hnmbug,  be- 
cause no  one  was  known.    To  him  who  does  not  know,  the 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  95 

inflated  india-rubber  toy  is  as  solid  as  a  cannon-ball. 

"  I  never  read  anything,"  said  Phillis,  with  a  half  blush. 
Not  that  she  was  ashamed  of  the  fact,  but  she  felt  that 
it  would  have  pleased  Captain  Ladds  had  she  read  his 
book.     "  You  see,  I  have  never  learned  to  read." 

"Oh!" 

It  was  rather  a  facer  to  Ladds.  Here  was  a  young 
lady,  not  being  a  Spaniard,  or  a  Sicilian,  or  a  Levantine, 
or  a  Mexican,  or  a  Paraguayan,  or  a  Brazilian,  or  belong- 
ing to  any  country  where  such  things  are  possible,  who 
boldly  confessed  that  she  could  not  read.  This  in  Eng- 
land ;  this  in  the  year  1875  ;  this  in  a  country  positively 
rendered  unpleasant  by  reason  of  its  multitudinous  School 
Boards  and  the  echoes  of  their  wrangling  ! 

Jack  Dunquerque,  in  his  place,  heard  the  statement 
and  looked  up  involuntarily  as  if  to  see  what  manner  of 
young  lady  this  could  be — a  gesture  of  surprise  into 
which  the  incongruity  of  the  thing  startled  him.  He 
caught  her  full  face  as  she  leaned  a  little  forward,  and  his 
glance  rested  for  a  moment  on  a  cheek  so  fair  that  his 
spirits  fell.  Beauty  disarms  the  youthful  squire,  and  arms 
him  who  has  won  his  spurs.     I  speak  in  an  allegory. 

Mrs.  Cassilis  heard  it  and  was  half  amused,  half  angry. 

Mr.  Cassilis  heard  it,  opened  his  mouth,  as  if  to  make 
some  remark  about  Mr.  Dyson's  method  of  education,  but 
thought  better  of  it. 

The  two  ladies  heard  it  and  glanced  at  her  curiously. 
Then  they  looked  at  each  other  with  the  slightest  uplift- 
ing of  the  eyebrow,  which  meant,  "  Who  on  earth  can  she 
be?" 

Mrs.  Cassilis  noted  that  too,  and  rejoiced,  because  she 
was  going  to  bring  forward  a  girl  who  would  make  every- 
body jealous. 

Ladds  was  the  only  one  who  spoke. 

"  That,"  he  said  feebly,  "  must  be  very  jolly." 

He  began  to  wonder  what  could  be  the  reason  of  this 
singular  educational  omission.     Perhaps  she  had  a  crooked 


96  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

back  ;  could  not  sit  up  to  a  desk,  could  not  hold  a 
book  in  her  hand  ;  but  no,  she  was  like  Petruchio's 
Kate: 

"  Like  the  hazel  twig, 
As  straight  and  slender." 

Perhaps  her  eyes  were  weak  ;  but  no,  her  eyes  were 
sparkling  with  the  "  right  Promethean  fire."  Perhaps  she 
was  of  weak  intellect ;  but  that  was  riduculous. 

Then  the  lady  who  had  read  the  book  began  to  ask 
more  questions.  I  do  not  know  anything  more  irri- 
tating than  to  be  asked  questions  about  your  own 
book. 

"Will  you  tell  us,  Mr,  Dunquerque,  if  the  story 
of  the  bear-hunt  is  a  true  one,  or  did  you  make  it 
up?" 

"  We  made  up  nothing.  That  story  is  perfectly  true. 
And  the  man's  name  was  Beck." 

"  Curious,"  said  Mr.  Cassilis.  "  An  American  named 
Beck,  Mr.  Gilead  P.  Beck,  is  in  London  now,  and  has  been 
recommended  to  me.  He  is  extremely  rich.  I  think,  my 
dear,  that  you  invited  him  to  dinner  to-day?' 

"Yes.  He  found  he  could  not  come  at  the  last 
moment.     He  will  be  here  in  the  evening." 

"  Then  you  you  will  see  the  very  man,"  said  Jack, 
unless  there  is  more  than  one  Gilead  P.  Beck,  which  is 
hardly  likely." 

"  This  man  has  practically  an  unlimited  credit,"  said 
the  host. 

"  And  talks,  I  suppose,  like,  well,  like  the  stage  Ameri- 
cans, I  suppose,"  said  his  wife. 

"  You  know,"  Jack  explained,  •'  that  the  stage  American 
is  all  nonsense.  The  educated  American  talks  a  great 
deal  better  than  we  do.  He  can  string  his  sentences  to- 
gether ;  we  can  only  bark." 

"  Perhaps  our  bark  is  better  than  their  bite,"  Ladds  re- 
marked. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY  97 

"A  man  who  has  unlimited  credit  may  talk  as  he  pleases," 
said  Mr.  Cassilis  dogmatically. 

The  two  solemn  young  men  murmured  assent. 

"  And  he  always  did  say  that  he  was  going  to  have  luck. 
He  carried  about  a  Golden  Butterfly  in  a  box." 

"  How  deeply  interesting  !"  replied  the  lady  who  had 
read  the  book.  "  And  is  that  other  story  true,  that  you 
found  an  English  traveller  living  all  alone  in  a  deserted 
city  i"" 

"  Quite  true." 

"  Really  ;     And  who  was  it  ?     Anybody  one  has  met  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  you  have  ever  met  him.  His 
name  is  Lawrence  Colquhoun." 

Mrs.  Cassilis  flushed  suddenly,  and  then  her  pale  face 
became  paler. 

"  Lawrence  Colquhoun,  formerly  of  ours,"  said  Ladds, 
looking  at  her. 

Mrs.  Cassilis  read  the  look  to  ask  what  business  it  was 
of  hers,  and  why  she  changed  colour  at  his  name. 

"Colquhoun  !"  she  said  softly.  Then  she  raised  her 
voice  and  addressed  her  husband  :  "  My  dear,  it  is  an  old 
friend  of  mine  of  whom  we  are  speaking,  Mr.  Lawrence 
Colquhoun." 

"  Yes  1"  he  had  forgotten  the  name.  "  What  did  he 
do  ?  I  think  I  remember  " He  stopped,  for  he  re- 
membered to  have  heard  his  wife's  name  in  connection 
with  this  man.  He  felt  a  sudden  pang  of  jealousy,  a 
quite  new  and  rather  curious  sensation.  It  passed,  but 
yet  he  rejoiced  that  the  man  was  out  of  England. 

**  He  is  my  guardian,"  "  Phillis  said  to  Ladds.  "  And 
you  actually  know  him?  Will  you  tell  me  something 
about  him  presently  ?" 

When  the  men  followed,  half  an  hour  later,  they  found 
the  four  ladies  sitting  in  a  large  semi-circle  round  the  fire. 
The  centre  of  the  space  so  formed  was  occupied  by  a 
gentleman  who  held  a  cup  of  tea  in  one  hand  and  de- 
claimed with  the  other.     That  is  to  say,  he  was  speaking 


98  THE   GOLDEN   BUTUERFLY. 

in  measured  tones,  and  as  if  he  were  addressing  a  large 
room  instead  of  four  ladies  :  and  his  right  hand  and  arm 
performed  a  pump-handle  movement  to  assist  and  grace 
his  delivery.  He  had  a  face  so  grave  that  it  seemed  as  if 
smiles  were  impossible  ;  he  was  apparently  about  forty 
years  of  age.  Mrs  Cassilis  was  not  listening  much. 
She  was  considering,  as  she  looked  at  her  visitor,  how  far 
he  might  be  useful  to  her  evenings.  Phillis  was  catching 
every  word  that  fell  from  the  stranger's  lips.  Here  was 
an  experience  quite  new  and  startling.  She  knew  of 
America  ;  Mr.  Dyson,  born  not  so  very  many  years  after 
the  War  of  Independence,  and  while  the  memory  of  its 
humiliations  was  fresh  in  the  mind  of  the  nation,  always 
thought  and  spoke  of  Americans  as  England's  hereditary 
and  implacable  enemies.  Yet  here  was  one  of  the  race 
talking  amicably,  and  making  no  hostile  demonstrations 
whatever.  So  that  another  of  her  collection  of  early  im- 
pressions evidently  needed  reconsideration. 

When  he  saw  the  group  at  the  door,  Mr.  Gilead  Beck — 
for  it  was  he — strode  hastily  across  the  room,  and  putting 
aside  Mr.  CassiUs,  seized  Jack  Dunquerque  by  the  hand 
and  wrung  it  for  several  moments. 

"  You  have  not  forgotten  me  !"  he  said.  '*  You  remem- 
ber that  lucky  shot  ?     You  still  think  of  that  Grisly  ?" 

•'Of  course  I  do,"  said  Jack  ;  "  I  shall  never  forget 
him." 

"  Nor  shall  I,  sir  ;  never."  And  then  he  went  through 
the  friendly  ceremony  with  Ladds. 

•*  You  are  the  other  man,  sir  ?" 

"  I  always  am  the  other  man,"  said  Ladds,  for  the  sec- 
ond time  that  evening.  "  How  are  you,  Mr.  Beck,  and 
how  is  ihe  Golden  Butterfly  ?" 

"  That  Inseck,  captain,  is  a  special  instrument  working 
under  Providence  for  my  welfare.  He  slumbers  at  my 
hotel,  the  Langham,  in  a  fire-proof  safe." 

Then  he  seized  Jack  Dunquerque's  arm,  and  led  him 
to  the  circle  round  the  fire. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  99 

"  Ladies,  this  young  gentleman  is  my  preserver.  He 
saved  my  life.  It  is  owing  to  Mr.  Dunquerque  that 
Gilead  P.  Beck  has  the  pleasure  of  being  in  this  drawing- 
room." 

"  O  Mr.  Dunquerque,"  said  the  lady  who  had  read  the 
book,  "  that  is  not  in  the  volume  !" 

"  Clawed  I  should  have  been,  mauled  I  should  have 
been,  rubbed  out  I  should  have  been,  on  that  green  and 
grassy  spot,  but  for  the  crack  of  Mr.  Dunquerque's  rifle. 
You  will  not  believe  me,  ladies,  but  I  thought  it  was  the 
crack  of  doom." 

"  It  was  a  most  charming,  picturesque  spot  in  which  to 
be  clawed,"  said  Jack,  laughing.  "  You  could  not  have 
selected  a  more  delightful  place  for  the  purpose." 

"  There  air  moments,"  said  Mr.  Beck,  looking  round 
the  room  solemnly,  and  letting  his  eyes  rest  on  Phillis, 
who  gazed  at  him  with  an  excitement  and  interest  she 
could  hardly  control — "there  air  moments  when  the  soul 
is  dead  to  poetry.  One  of  those  moments  is  when  you 
feel  the  breath  of  a  Grisly  on  your  cheek.  Even  you, 
young  lady,  would,  at  such  a  moment,  lose  your  interest 
in  the  beauty  of  Nature." 

Phillis  started  when  he  addressed  her. 

"  Did  he  save  your  life  ?"  she  asked,  with  flashing  eyes. 

Jack  Dunquerque  blushed  as  this  fair  creature  turned 
to  him  with  looka  of  such  admiration  and  respect  as  the 
queen  of  the  tournament  bestowed  upon  the  victor  of  the 
fight.  So  Desdemona  gazed  upon  the  Moor  when  he 
spake 

"  Of  moBt  disastrous  chances. 
Of  moTing  accidents  by  flood  and  field." 

Mrs.  Cassilis  affected  a  diversion  by  introducing  her 
husband  to  Mr.  Beck. 

"  Mr.  Cassilis,  sir,"  he  said,  "  I  have  a  letter  for  you 
from  one  of  our  most  prominent  bankers.  And  I  called 
in  the  City  this  afternoon  to  give  it  you.  But  I  was  un- 
fortunate.    Sir,   I   hope  that  we    shall    become    better 


too  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

acquainted.  And  I  am  proud,  sir,  I  am  proud  of  making 
the  acquaintance  of  a  man  who  has  the  privilege  of  life 
partnership  with  Mrs.  Cassilis.  That  is  a  great  privilege, 
sir,  and  I  hope  you  value  it." 

"  Hum — yes  ;  thank  you,  Mr.  Beck,"  replied  Mr.  Cas- 
silis, in  a  tone  which  conveyed  to  the  sharp-eared  Phillis 
the  idea  that  he  thought  considerable  value  ought  to  be 
attached  to  the  fact  of  having  a  life  partnership  with  him. 
"  And  how  do  you  like  our  country  ?" 

The  worst  of  going  to  America,  if  you  are  an  English- 
man, or  of  crossing  to  England,  if  you  are  an  American  is 
that  you  can  never  escape  that  most  searching  and  com- 
prehensive question. 

Said  Mr.  Gilead  Beck  : 

"  Well,  sir,  a  dollar  goes  a  long  way  in  this  country — 
especially  in  cigars  and  drinks." 

"  In  drinks  !"  Phillis  listened.  The  other  ladies  shot 
glances  at  each  other. 

"  Phillis,  my  dear  " — Mrs.  Cassilis  crossed  the  room  and 
interrupted  her  rapt  attention — "  let  me  introduce  Mr. 
Ronald  Dunquerque.  Do  you  think  you  could  play 
something  ?" 

She  bowed  to  the  young  hero  with  sparkling  eyes  and 
rose  to  comply  with  the  invitation.  He  followed  her  to 
the  piano.  She  played  in  that  sweet  spontaneous  manner 
which  the  women  who  have  only  been  taught  hear  with 
despair  ;  she  touched  the  keys  as  if  she  loved  them  and 
as  if  they  understood  her ;  she  played  one  or  two  of  the 
"  Songs  without  Words  ;"  and  then,  starting  a  simple 
melody,  she  began  to  sing,  without  being  asked,  a  simple 
old  ballad.  Her  tone  was  low  at  first,  because  she  did 
not  know  the  room,  not  because  she  was  afraid  ;  but  it 
gradually  rose  as  she  felt  her  power,  till  the  room  filled 
with  the  volumes  of  her  rich  contralto  voice.  Jack  Dun- 
querque stood  beside  her.  She  looked  up  in  his  face 
with  eyes  that  smiled  a  welcome  while  she  went  on  sing- 
ing. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  lOI 

♦*  You  told  US  you  could  not  read,"  said  the  young  man 
when  she  finished. 

"  It  is  quite  true,  Mr.  Dunquerque.     I  cannot." 

"  How,  then,  can  you  play  and  sing  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  play  by  ear  and  by  memory.  That  is  nothing 
wonderful.'" 

"  Won't  you  go  on  playing  ?" 

She  obeyed,  talking  in  low,  measured  tones,  in  time 
with  the  air. 

"  I  think  you  know  my  guardian,  Mr,  Lawrence  Colqu- 
houn.  Will  you  tell  me  all  about  him  ?  I  have  never 
seen  him  yet." 

This  unprincipled  young  man  saw  his  chance,  and 
promptly  seized  the  opportunity. 

"  I  should  like  to  very  much,  but  one  cannot  talk  here 
before  all  these  people.  If  you  will  allow  me  to  call  to- 
morrow, I  will  gladly  tell  you  all  I  know  about  him." 

"You  had  better  come  at  luncheon-time,"  she  replied, 
"  and  then  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you." 

Mr.  Abraham  Dyson  usually  told  his  friends  to  come  at 
luncheon-time,  so  she  could  not  be  wrong.  Also,  she 
knew  by  this  time  that  the  Twins  were  always  asleep  at 
two  o'clock,  so  that  she  would  be  alone  ;  and  it  was  pleas- 
ant to  think  of  a  talk,  sola  cum  solo,  with  this  interesting 
specimen  of  newly-discovered  humanity — a  young  man 
who  had  actually  saved  another  man's  life. 

"  Is  she  an  outrageous  flirt  ?"  thought  Jack,  "  or  is  she 
deliciously  and  wonderfully  simple  ?" 

On  the  way  home  he  discussed  the  problem  with  Ladds. 

"  I  don't  care  which  it  is,"  he  concluded,  "  I  must  see 
her  again.  Ladds,  old  man,  I  believe  I  could  fall  in  love 
with  that  girl.  *  Ask  me  no  more,  for  at  a  touch  I  yield.' 
Did  you  notice  her.  Tommy  ?  Did  you  see  her  sweet 
eyes — I  must  say  she  has  the  sweetest  eyes  in  all  the 
world — looking  with  a  pretty  wonder  at  our  quaint  Yankee 
friend  ?  Did  you  see  her  trying  to  take  an  interest  in  the 
twaddle  of  old  Cassilis  ?     Did  you  " 


I02  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  Have  we  eyes  ?"  Ladds  growled.  "  Is  the  heart  at 
five  and  thirty  a  log  ?" 

"  And  her  figure,  tall  and  slender,  lissom  and  gracieuse. 
And  her  face,  'the  silent  war  of  lilies  and  of  roses.'  How 
I  love  the  brunette  faces  !     They  are  never  insipid." 

"  Do  you  remember  the  half-caste  Spanish  girl  in 
Manilla?" 

"  Ladds,  don't  dare  to  mention  that  girl  beside  this 
adorable  angel  of  purity.  I  have  found  out  her  Christian 
name — it  is  Phillis — rhymes  to  lilies  ;  and  am  going  to 
call  at  her  house  to-morrow — Carnarvon  Square." 

"  And  I  am  going  to  have  half  an  hoiir  in  the  smoking- 
room,"  said  Ladds,  as  they  arrived  at  the  portals  of  the 
club. 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Jack.  "  You  know  what  Othello  says 
of  Desdemona : 

'  O  thou  weed, 
Who  art  so  lovely  fair,  and  sraell'st  so  sweet 
That  the  sense  aches  at  thee  I' 

I  mean  Phillis  Fleming,  of  course,  not  your  confounded 
tobacco." 

CHAPTER  Vin. 

"  They  say  if  money  goes  before,  all  ways  do  He  open." 

*  *  J  CALL  this  kind,  boys,'  said  Mr.  Gilead  P.  Beck, 
1  welcoming  his  visitors.  Captain  Ladds  and  Jack 
Dunquerque  ;  "  I  call  this  friendly.  I  asked  myself  last 
night,  '  Will  those  boys  come  to  see  me,  or  will  they  let 
the  ragged  Yankee  slide  ?'     And  here  you  are," 

*'  Change,"  said  Ladds  the  monosyllabic,  looking  round. 
"  Gold  looking  up  ?" 

There  is  a  certain  suite  of  rooms  in  the  Langham  Hotel 
— there  may  be  a  hundred  such  suites  known  to  the  travel- 
lers who  have  explored  that  mighty  hostelry — originally 
designed  for  foreign  princes,  ambassadors,  or  those  wan- 
dering kings  whom  our  hospitality  sends  to  an  inn.  The 
suite  occupied  by  Mr.  Beck  consisted  of  a  large  reception- 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  IO3 

room,  a  smaller  apartment  occupied  by  himself,  and  a 
bedroom.    The  rooms  were  furnished  in  supposed  accord- 
ance with  the  tastes  of  their  princely  occupants,  that  is  to 
say,  with  soUd  magnificence.    Mr.  Beck  had  been  in  Eng- 
land no  more  than  a  week,  and  as  he  had  not  yet  begun 
to  buy  anything,  the  rooms  were  without  those  splendid 
decorations  of  pictures,  plate,  and  objects  of  art  generally, 
with  which  he  subsequently  adorned  them.     They  looked 
heavy  and  rather  cheerless.     A  fire  was  burning  on  the 
hearth,  and    Mr.  Beck   was    standing  before   it  with   an 
unlighted  cigar  in  his  lips.     Apparently  he  had  already 
presented  some  letters  of  introduction,  for  there  were  a 
few  cards  of  invitation  on   the  mantelshelf.      He  was 
dressed  in  a  black  frock-coat,  as  a  gentleman  should  be, 
and  he  wore  it  buttoned  up,  so  that  his  tall  stature  and 
thin  figure  were  shown  off  to  full  advantage.     He  wore  a 
plain  black  ribbon  by  way  of  necktie,  and  was  modest  in 
the  way  of   studs.     Jack    Dunquerque   noticed   that   he 
wore  no  jewelery  of  any  kind,  which  he  thought  unusual 
in  a  man  of   unlimited  credit,  a  new  man  whose  fortune 
was    not    two    years    old.     He    was    an    unmistakable 
American.     His  chin  was  now  close  shaven,  and  without 
the  traditional  tuft  ;  but  he  had  the  bright  restless  eye,  the 
long   spare   form,  the   obstinately  straight  hair,  the  thin 
flexible   mouth   with  mobile   lips,  the   delicately   shaped 
chin,  and  the  long  neck  which  seem   points  characteristic 
with  our  Transatlantic  brethren.     His  grave  face  lit  up 
with  a  smile  of  pleasure  when  he  saw  Jack  Dunquerque. 
It  was  a  thoughtful  face  ;  it  had  lines  in  it,  such  as  might 
have  been  caused  by  the  buffets  of   Fate  ;  but  his  eyes 
were  kindly.     As   for   his  speech,  it   preserved  the   nasal 
drawl  of  his  New  England  birthplace  ;  he   spoke  slowly, 
as  if  feeling  for  the  right  words,  and  his  pronunciation  was 
that  of   a   man    sprung    from   the   ranks.     Let   us  say  at 
once  that  we  do  not  attempt  to  reproduce  by  an  affected 
spelling,  save  occasionally,  the  Doric  of  the  New  England 
speech.     He  was  a  typical  man  of  the  Eastern  Estate — 


I04  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

self-reliant,  courageous,  independent,  somewhat  preju- 
diced, roughly  educated,  ready  for  any  employment  and 
ashamed  of  none,  and  withal  brave  as  an  Elizabethan 
buccaneer,  sensitive  as  a  Victorian  lady,  sympathetic  as — 
as  Henry  Longfellow. 

"  There  is  change,  sir " — he  addressed  himself  to 
Ladds — "in  most  things  human.  The  high  tides  and 
the  low  tides  keep  us  fresh.  Else  we  should  be  as 
stagnant  as  a  Connecticut  gospel-grinder  in  his  village 
location. 

"  This  is  high  tide,  I  see,"  said  Jack,  laughing.  "  I  hope 
that  American  high  tides  last  longer  than  ours." 

"  I  am  hopeful,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  that  they  air  of 
a  more  abiding  disposition.  If  you  should  be  curi- 
ous, gentlemen,  to  know  my  history  since  I  left  you 
in  San  Francisco,  I  will  tell  you  it  from  the  begin- 
ning. You  remember  that  blessed  inseck,  the  Golden 
Butterfly  ? " 

"  In  the  little  box,"  said  Ladds.  "  I  asked  you  after 
his  welfare  last  night." 

Jack  began  to  blush. 

"  Before  you  begin,"  he  interposed,  "  we  ought  to  tell 
you  that  since  we  came  home  we  have  written  a  book,  we 
two,  about  our  travels." 

"  Is  that  so  ? "  asked  Mr.  Beck,  with  some  natural  rev- 
erence for  the  author  of  a  book. 

"  And  we  have  put  you  into  it,  with  an  account  of  Em- 
pire City." 

"  Me — as  I  was — in  rags  and  without  even  a  gun  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  not  a  flattering  likeness,  but  a  true  one." 

"  And  the  lucky  shot,  is  that  there  too  ? " 

"  Some  of  it  is  there,"  said  Ladds.  "  Jack  would  not 
have  the  whole  story  published.     Looked  ostentatious." 

"  Gentlemen,  I  shall  buy  that  book.  I  shall  take  five 
hundred  copies  of  that  book  for  my  people  in  the  Domin- 
ion. Just  as  I  was,  you  say — no  boots  but  moccasins; 
not  a  dollar  nor  a  cent ;    running  for  bare  life  before  a 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY  I05 

Grisly.  Gentlemen,  that  book  will  raise  me  in  the 
estimation  of  my  fellow-countrymen.  And  if  you  will  allow 
me  the  privilege,  I  shall  say  it  was  written  by  two  friends 
of  mine." 

Jack  breathed  freely.  He  was  afraid  Mr.  Beck 
might  have  resented  the  intrusion  of  his  ragged  per- 
sonality. An  Englishman  certainly  would.  Mr.  Beck 
seemed  to  think  that  the  contrast  between  present 
broadcloth  and  past  rags  reflected  the  highest  credit  on 
himself. 

This  part  of  the  work,  indeed,  which  the  critics  declared 
to  be  wildly  improbable,  was  the  only  portion  read  by 
Mr.  Beck.  And  just  as  he  persisted  in  giving  Jack  the 
sole  credit  of  his  rescue — perhaps  because  in  his  mental 
confusion  he  never  even  heard  the  second  shot  which 
finished  the  bear — so  he  steadfastly  regarded  Jack  as  the 
sole  author  of  this  stirring  chapter,  which  was  Ladd's  mas- 
terpiece, and  was  grateful  accordingly. 

"  And  now,"  he  went  on,  "  I  must  show  you  the  critter 
himself,  the  Golden  Bug." 

There  was  standing  in  a  corner,  where  it  would  be  least 
likely  to  receive  any  rude  shocks  or  collisions,  a  small 
heavy  iron  safe.  This  he  unlocked,  and  brought  forth 
with  great  care  a  glass  case  which  exactly  fitted  the  safe. 
The  frame  of  the  case  was  made  of  golden  rods  ;  along 
the  lower  part  of  the  front  pane,  in  letters  of  gold,  was  the 
legend  : 

"  If  this  Golden  Butterfly  fall  and  break, 
Farewell  the  Luck  of  Gilead  P.  Beck." 

"  Your  poetry,  Mr.  Dunquerque,"  said  Mr.  Beck,  point- 
ing to  the  distich  with  pride.  "  Your  own  composition, 
sir,  and  my  motto." 

Within  the  case  was  the  Butterfly  itself,  but  glorified. 
The  bottom  of  the  glass  box  was  a  thick  sheet  of  pure 
gold,  on  which  was  fixed  a  rose,  the  leaves,  flower,  and 
stalk  worked  in  dull  gold.  Not  a  fine  work  of  art,  per- 
haps, but  a  reasonably  good  rose,  as  good  as  that  Papal 


Io6  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

rose  they  show  in  the  Cluny  Hotel.  The  Butterfly  was 
poised  upon  the  rose  by  means  of  thin  gold  wire,  which 
passed  round  the  strip  of  quartz  which  formed  the  body. 
The  ends  were  firmly  welded  into  the  leaves  of  the  flower, 
and  when  the  case  was  moved  the  insect  vibrated  as  if  he 
was  in  reality  alive. 

"  There  !  Look  at  it,  gentlemen.  That  is  the  inseck 
which  has  made  the  fortune  of  Gilead  P.  Beck." 

He  addressed  himself  to  both,  but  his  eye  rested  on 
Jack  with  a  look  which  showed  that  he  regarded  the 
young  man  with  something  more  than  friendliness. 
The  man  who  fired  that  shot,  the  young  fellow  who 
saved  him  from  a  cruel  death,  was  his  David,  the  beloved 
of  his  soul. 

Ladds  looked  at  it  curiously,  as  if  expecting  some  mani- 
festation of  the  supernatural. 

"  Is  it  a  medium  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Does  it  rap,  or  answer 
questions,  or  tell  the  card  you  are  thinking  of  ?  Shall 
you  exhibit  the  thing  in  the  Egyptian  Hall  as  a  freak  of 
Nature  ? " 

"  No,  sir,  I  shall  not.  But  I  will  tell  you  what  I  did,  if 
you  will  let  me  replace  him  in  his  box,  where  he  sits  and 
works  for  Me.  No  harm  will  come  to  him  there,  unless 
an  airthquake  happens.  Sit  down,  general,  and  you  too, 
Mr.  Dunquerque.  Here  is  a  box  of  cigars,  which  ought 
to  be  good,  and  you  will  call  for  your  own  drink." 

It  was  but  twelve  o'clock,  and  therefore  early  for  re- 
vivers of  any  sort.  Finally,  Mr.  Beck  ordered  cham- 
pagne. 

*'  That  drink,"  he  said,  "  as  you  get  it  here,  is  a  com- 
pound calculated  to  inspirit  Job  in  the  thick  of  his  misfor- 
tunes. But  if  there  is  any  other  single  thing  you  prefer, 
and  it  is  to  be  had  in  this  almighty  city,  name  that  thing 
and  you  shall  have  it." 

Then  he  began  : 

"  I  went  off,  after  I  left  you,  by  the  Pacific  Railway — 
not  the  first  time  I  travelled  up  and  down  that  line — and 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  107 

I  landed  in  New  York.  Mr.  Colquhoun  gave  me  a  rig 
out,  and  you,  sir," — he  nodded  to  Jack — "  you,  sir,  gave 
me  the  stamps  to  pay  the  ticket." 

Jack,  accused  of  this  act  of  benevolence,  naturally 
blushed  a  guilty  acknowledgment. 

Mr.  Gilead  P,  Beck  made  no  reference  to  the  gift  either 
then  or  at  any  subsequent  period.  Nor  did  he  ever  offer 
to  repay  it,  even  when  he  discovered  the  slenderness  of 
Jack's'resources.  That  showed  that  he  was  a  sensi- 
tive and  sympathetic  man.  To  offer  a  small  sum  of 
money  in  repayment  of  a  free  gift  from  an  extraordinarily 
rich  man  to  a  very  poor  one  is  not  a  delicate  thing  to  do. 
Therefore  this  gentleman  of  the  backwoods  abstained  from 
doing  it. 

"  New  York  City,"  he  continued,  "  is  not  the  village  I 
should  recommend  to  a  man  without  dollars  in  his  pocket. 
London,  where  there  is  an  institootion,  or  a  charity,  or  a 
hospital,  or  a  workhouse,  or  a  hot-soup  boiler  in  every 
street,  is  the  city  for  that  gentleman.  Fiji,  p'r'aps,  for  one 
who  has  a  yearning  after  bananas  and  black  civilisation. 
But  not  New  York.  No,  gentlemen  ;  if  you  go  to  New 
York,  let  it  be  when  you've  made  your  pile,  and  not  be- 
fore. Then  you  will  find  out  that  there  air  thirty  theatres 
in  the  city,  with  lovely  and  accomplished  actresses  in  each, 
and  you  can  walk  into  Delmonico's  as  if  the  place  belonged 
to  you.  But  for  men  down  on  their  luck,  New  York  is  a 
cruel  place. 

"  I  left  that  city,  and  I  made  my  way  North.  I  wanted 
to  see  the  old  folks  I  left  behind  long  ago  in  Lexington  ;  I 
found  them  dead,  and  I  was  sorry.  Then  I  went  farther 
North.  P'r'aps  I  was  driven  by  the  yellow  toy  hang- 
ing at  my  back.  Anyhow,  it  was  only  six  weeks  after  I 
left  you  that  I  found  myself  in  the  city  of  Limerick  on 
Lake  Ontario. 

You  do  not  know  the  city  of  Limerick,  I  dare  say. 
It  was  not  famous,  nor  was  it  pretty.  In  fact,  gentle- 
men, it    was     the   durndest    misbegotten    location  built 


Io8  THii    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

around  a  swamp  that  ever  called  itself  a  city.  There 
were  a  few  delocded  farmers  trying  to  persuade 
themselves  that  things  would  look  up  ;  there  were  a 
few  down-hearted  settlers  wondering  why  they  ever 
came  there,  and  how  they  would  get  out  again  ;  and 
there  were  a  few  log-houses  in  a  row  which  called  them- 
selves a  street. 

"  I  got  there,  and  I  stayed  there.  Their  carpenter  was 
dead,  and  I  am  a  handy  man  ;  so  I  took  his  place.  Then 
I  made  a  few  dollars  doing  chores  around." 

"  What  are  chores  ?" 

"  All  sorts.  The  clocks  were  out  of  repair  ;  the  handles 
were  coming  off  the  pails  ;  the  chairs  were  without  legs  ; 
the  pump-handle  crank  ;  the  very  bell-rope  in  the  meetin' 
house  was  broken.  You  never  saw  such  a  helpless  lot.  I 
did  not  stay  among  them  because  I  loved  them,  but  be- 
cause I  saw  things." 

"  Ghosts  ?"  asked  Ladds,  with  an  eye  to  the  super- 
natural. 

"  No,  sir.  That  was  what  they  thought  I  saw  when  I 
went  prowling  around  by  myself  of  an  evening.  They 
thought  too  that  I  was  made  when  I  began  to  buy  the 
land.  You  could  buy  it  for  nothing  ;  a  dollar  an  acre  ; 
half  a  dollar  an  acre  ;  anything  an  acre.  I've  mended  a 
cart-wheel  for  a  five-acre  lot  of  swamp.  They  laughed 
at  me.  The  children  used  to  cry  out  when  I  passed 
along,  'There  goes  mad  Beck.'  But  I  bought  all  I  could, 
and  my  only  regret  was  that  I  couldn't  buy  up  the  hull 
township — clear  off  men,  women,  and  children,  and  start 
fresh.     Some  more  champagne,  Mr.  Dunquerque." 

"  What  was  the  Golden  Butterfly  doing  all  this  time  ?" 
asked  Ladds. 

"  That  faithful  inseck,  sir,  was  hanging  around  my 
neck,  as  when  you  were  first  introduced  to  him.  He  was 
whisperin'  and  eggin'  me  on,  because  he  was  bound  to 
fulfil  the  old  squaw's  prophecy.  Without  my  knowing  it, 
sir,  that  prodigy  of  the  world,  who  is  as  alive  as  you  air 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  109 

at  this  moment,  will  go  on  whisperin'  till  such  time  as  the 
rope's  played  out  and  the  smash  comes.  Then  he'll  be 
silent  again." 

He  spoke  with  a  solemn  earnestness  which  impressed 
his  hearers.  They  looked  at  the  fire-proof  safe  with  a 
feeling  that  at  any  moment  the  metallic  insect  might  open 
the  door,  fly  forth,  and,  after  hovering  round  the  room, 
light  at  Mr.  Beck's  ear,  and  begin  to  whisper  words  of 
counsel.  Did  not  Mohammed  have  a  pigeon  ?  and  did 
not  Louis  Napoleon  at  Boulogne  have  an  eagle  ?  Why 
should  not  Mr.  Beck  have  a  butterfly. 

"  The  citizens  of  Limerick,  gentlemen,  in  that  dismal 
part  of  Canada  where  they  bewail  their  miserable  lives, 
air  not  a  people  who  have  eyes  to  see,  ears  to  hear,  or 
brains  to  understand.     I  saw  that  they  were  walking — no, 
sleeping — over   fields   of   incalculable   wealth,   and   they 
never  suspected.     They  smoked  their  pipes  and  ate  their 
pork.     But  they  never  saw  and  they   never  suspected. 
Between  whiles  they  praised  the  Lord  for  sending  them  a 
fool  like  me,  something  to   talk  about,  and  somebody  to 
laugh  at.    They  wanted  to  know  what  was  in  the  little  box; 
they  sent  children  to  peep  in  at  my  window  of  an  evening 
and  report  what  I  was  doing.     They  reported  that   I  was 
always  doing  the  same  thing  ;  always  with  a  map  of  Lim- 
erick City  and   its   picturesque   and   interestin'   suburbs, 
staking  out  the  ground  and  reckoning  up  my  acres.    That's 
what  I  did  at  night.     And  in  the  morning  I  looked  about 
me,  and  wondered  where  I  should  begin." 
What  did  you  see  when  you  looked  about  ?  " 
**  I  saw,  sir,  a  barren  bog.     If  it  had  been  a  land  as  fer- 
tile as  the  land  of  Canaan,  that  would  not  have  made  my 
heart  to  bound  as  it  did  bound  when  I  looked  across  that 
swamp  ;  for  I  never  was  a  tiller  or  a  lover  of  the  soil.     A 
barren  bog  it  was.     The  barrenest,  boggiest  part  of  it  all 
was  my  claim  ;   when  the  natives  spoke  of  it  they  called  it 
Beck's  Farm,  and  then  the  poor  critturs  squirmed  in  their 
chairs  and  laughed.     Yes,  they  laughed.     Beck's  Farm, 


no  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

they  said.  It  was  the  only  thing  they  had  to  laugh  about. 
Wall,  up  and  down  the  face  of  that  almighty  bog  there 
ran  creeks,  and  after  rainy  weather  the  water  stood  about 
on  the  morasses.  Plenty  of  water,  but  a  curious  thing, 
none  of  it  fit  to  drink.  No  living  thing  except  man  would 
set  his  lips  to  that  brackish,  bad-smelling  water.  And  that 
wasn't  all  ;  sometimes  a  thick  black  slime  rose  to  the 
surface  of  the  marsh  and  lay  there  an  inch  thick  ;  some- 
times you  came  upon  patches  of  *  gum-beds,'  as  they 
called  them,  where  the  ground  was  like  tar,  and  smelt 
strong.  That  is  what  I  saw  when  I  looked  around,  sir. 
And  to  think  that  those  poor  mean  pork  raisers  saw  it  all 
the  same  as  I  did  and  never  suspected  !  Only  cursed  the 
gifts  of  the  Lord  when  they  weren't  laughing  at  Beck's 
Farm." 

"  And  you  found— what  ?    Gold  ?" 

"  No.  I  found  what  I  expected.  And  that  was  better 
than  gold.  Mind,  I  say  nothing  against  gold.  Gold  has 
made  many  a  pretty  little  fortune  " 

«  Little  !" 

"  Little,  sir.  There's  no  big  fortunes  made  out  of  gold. 
Though  many  a  pretty  villa-location,  with  a  tidy  flower- 
garden  up  and  down  the  States,  is  built  out  of  the  gold- 
mines. Diamonds  again.  One  or  two  men  likes  the  name 
of  diamonds  ;  but  not  many.  There's  the  disadvantage 
about  gold  and  diamonds  that  you  have  to  dig  for  them, 
and  to  dig  durned  hard,  and  to  dig  by  yourself  mostly. 
Americans  do  not  love  digging.  Like  the  young  gentle- 
man in  the  parable,  they  cannot  dig,  and  to  beg  they  air 
ashamed.  It  is  the  only  occupation  that  they  air  ashamed 
of.  Then  there's  iron,  and  there's  coals  ;  but  you've  got 
to  dig  for  them.  Lord  !  Lord  !  This  great  airth  holds  a 
hundred  things  covered  up  for  them  who  know  how  to 
look  and  do  not  mind  digging.  But,  gentlemen,  the 
greatest  gift  the  airth  has  to  bestow  she  gave  to  me — 
abundant,  spontaneous,  etarnal,  without  bottom,  and  free." 

"  And  that  is  " 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  Ill 

"It  is  Ile." 

Mr.  Beck  paused  a  moment.  His  face  was  lit  with  a 
real  and  genuine  enthusiasm,  a  pious  appreciation  of  the 
choicer  blessings  of  Hfe  ;  those,  namely,  which  enable  a 
man  to  sit  down  and  enjoy  the  proceeds  of  other  men's 
labour.  No  provision  has  been  made  in  the  prayer-book 
of  any  Church  for  the  expression  of  this  kind  of  thankful- 
ness. Yet  surely  there  ought  to  be  somewhere  a  clause  for 
the  rich.  No  more  blissful  repose  can  fall  upon  the  soul 
than,  after  long  years  of  labour  and  failure,  to  sit  down 
and  enjoy  the  fruits  of  other  men's  labour.  A  Form  of 
Thanksgiving  for  publisaers,  managers  of  theatres,  own- 
ers of  coal-mines,  and  such  gentlemen  as  Mr.  Gilead  P. 
Beck,  might  surely  be  introduced  into  our  Ritual  with 
advantage.  It  would  naturally  be  accompanied  by 
incense. 

"  It  is  lie,  sir." 

He  opened  another  bottle  of  champagne  and  took  a 
glass. 

"  lie.  Gold  you  have  to  dig,  to  pick,  to  wash.  Gold 
means  rheumatism  and  a  bent  back.  lie  flows,  and  you 
become  suddenly  rich.  You  make  all  the  loafers  around 
fill  your  pails  for  you.  And  then  your  bankers  tell  you 
how  many  millions  of  dollars  you  are  worth." 

"  Millions  !"  repeated  Jack.  "  The  word  sounds  very 
rich  and  luxurious." 

"  It  is  so,  sir.  There's  nothing  like  it  in  the  Old  Coun- 
try. England  is  a  beautiful  place,  and  London  is  a  beau- 
tiful city.     You've  got  many  blessin's   in   this   beautiful 

city.     If  you  haven't  got  Joe  Tweed,  you've  got  " 

"  Hush  !"  said  Jack  ;  "it's  libellous  to  give  names." 
"  And  if  you  haven't  got  Erie  stock  and  your  whiskey- 
rings,  you've  got  your  foreign  bonds  to  take  your  surplus 
cash.  No,  gentlemen  ;  London  is  not,  in  some  respects, 
much  behind  New  York.  But  one  thing  this  country  has 
not  got,  and  that  is — lie. 

"  It  is  nearly  a  year  since  I  made  up  my  mind  to  begin 


112  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

my  well.  I  kneiv  it  was  there,  because  I'd  been  in  Penn- 
sylvania and  learned  the  signs  ;  it  was  only  the  question 
whether  I  should  strike  it,  and  where.  The  neighbours 
thought  I  was  digging  for  water,  and  figured  around  with 
their  superior  intellecks,  because  they  were  certain  the 
water  would  be  brackish.  Then  they  got  tired  of  watch 
ing,  and  I  worked  on.  Boring  a  well  is  not  quite  the  sort 
of  work  a  man  would  select  for  a  pleasant  and  variegatec 
occupation.  I  reckon  it's  monotonous  ;  but  I  worked  on. 
I  knew  what  was  coming  ;  I  thought  o'  that  Indian  squaw, 
and  I  always  had  my  Golden  Butterfly  tied  in  a  box  at 
my  back.  I  bored  and  I  bored.  Day  after  day  I  bored. 
In  that  lonely  miasmatic  bog  I  bored  all  day  and  best 
part  of  the  night.  For  nothing  came,  and  sometimes 
qnalms  crossed  my  mind  that  perhaps  there  would  never 
be  anything.  But  always  there  was  the  gummy  mud, 
smelling  of  what  I  knew  was  below,  to  lead  me  on. 

"  It  was  the  ninth  day,  and  noon.  I  had  a  shanty  called 
the  farmhouse,  about  a  hundred  yards  from  my  well.  And 
there  I  was  taking  my  dinner.  To  you  two  young  English 

aristocrats  " 

"  Ladds'  Cocoa,  the  only  perfect  fragrance." 
"  Shut  up,  Ladds,"  growled  Jack  ;  "  don't  interrupt." 
"  I  say,  to  you  two  young  aristocrats  a  farmer's  dinner 
in   that   township    would   not    sound    luxurious.      Mine 
consisted,  on  that  day  and  all  days,  of  cold  boiled  pork 
and  bread." 

"  Ah,  yah  !  "  said  Jack  Dunquerque,  who  had  a  proud 
stomach. 

"  Yes,  sir,  my  own  remark  every  day  when  I  sat  down 
to  that  simple  banquet.  But  when  you  are  hungry  you 
must  eat,  murmur  though  you  will  for  Egyptian  flesh- 
pots.  Cold  pork  was  my  dinner,  with  bread.  And  the 
watter  to  wash  it  down  with  was  brackish.  In  those 
days,  gentlemen,  I  said  no  grace.  It  didn't  seem  to  me 
that  the  most  straight-walking  Christian  was  expected 
to  be    more    than    tolerably    thankful    for    cold   pork. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  "  II3 

My  gratitude  was  so  moderate  that  it  wi?'i*t  worth 
offering." 

"And  while  you  were  eating  the  pork,"  said  LaJds, 
"  the  Golden  Butterfly  flew  down  the  shaft  by  himself, 
and  struck  oil  of  his  own  accord." 

"  No,  sir  ;  for  once  you  are  wrong.  That  most  I'-eauti- 
ful  creation  of  Nature  in  her  sweetest  mood — she  mus-^ 
have  got  up  with  the  sun  on  a  fine  summer  morning — wa; 
reposing  in  his  box  round  my  neck  as  usual.  He  did  not 
go  down  the  shaft  at  all.  Nobody  went  down.  But  some- 
thing came  up — up  like  a  fountain,  up  like  the  bubbling 
over  of  the  airth's  eternal  teapot ;  a  black  muddy  jet  of 
stuff.     Great  sun  !  I  think  I  see  it  now." 

He  paused  and  sighed. 

"  It  was  nearly  all  He,  pure  and  unadulterated,  from 
the  world's  workshop.  Would  you  believe  it,  gentlemen  ? 
There  were  not  enough  bar'ls,  not  by  hundreds,  in  the 
neighbourhood  all  round  Limerick  City,  to  catch  that  He. 
It  flowed  in  a  stream  three  feet  down  the  creek  ;  it  was 
carried  away  into  the  lake  and  lost  ;  it  ran  free  and  unin- 
terrupted for  three  days  and  three  nights.  We  saved 
what  we  could.  The  neighbours  brought  their  pails,  their 
buckets,  their  basins,  their  kettles  ;  there  was  not  a  utensil 
of  any  kind  that  was  not  filled  with  He,  from  the  pig's 
trough  to  the  child's  pap-bowl.  Not  one.  It  ran  and  it 
ran.  When  the  first  flow  subsided  we  calculated  that 
seven  million  bar'ls  had  been  wasted  and  lost.  Seven 
millions !  I  am  a  Christian  man,  and  grateful  to  the 
Butterfly,  but  I  sometimes  repine  when  I  think  of  that 
wasted  He.  Every  bar'l  worth  nine  dollars  at  least,  and 
most  likely  ten.  Sixty-three  millions  of  dollars.  Twelve 
millions  of  pounds  sterling  lost  in  three  days  for  want  of 
a  few  coopers.  Did  you  ever  think,  Mr.  Dunquerque, 
what  you  could  do  with  twelve  millions  sterling  ?  " 

"  I  never  did,"  said  Jack.  "  My  imagination  never  got 
beyond  thousands." 

•'With  twelve  millions  I   might   have  bought   up  the 


114  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

daily  press  of  England,  and  made  you  all  republicans  in  a 
month.  I  might  have  '  made  the  Panama  Canal  ;  I 
might  have  bought  Palasteen  and  sent  the  Jews  back  ;  I 
might  have  given  America  fifty  ironclads  ;  I  might  have 
put  Don  Carlos  on  the  throne  of  Spain.  But  it  warn't  to 
be.  Providence  wants  no  rivals,  meddling  and  messing. 
That  was  why  the  He  ran  away  and  was  lost  while  I  ate 
the  cold  boiled  pork.  Perhaps  it's  an  interestin'  fact  that 
I  never  liked  cold  boiled  pork  before,  and  I  have  bated  it 
ever  since. 

"  The  great  spurt  subsided,  and  we  went  to  work  in 
earnest.  That  well  has  continued  to  yield  five  hundred 
bar'ls  daily.  That  is  four  thousand  five  hundred  dollars 
in  my  pocket  every  four  and  twenty  hours." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  your  income  is  nine  hundred  pounds 
a  day  ? "  asked  Jack. 

"  I  do,  sir.  You  go  your  pile  on  that.  It  is  more,  but  I 
do  not  know  how  much  more.  Perhaps  it's  twice  as  much. 
There  are  wells  of  mine  sunk  all  over  the  place;  the  swamp 
is  covered  with  Gilead  P.  Beck's  derricks.  The  township 
of  Limerick  has  become  the  city  of  Rockoleaville — my 
name,  that  was — and  a  virtuous  and  industrious  population 
are  all  engaged  morning,  noon,  and  night  in  fillin'  my 
pails.  There's  twenty-five  bars,  I  believe,  at  this  moment. 
There  are  three  meetin'-houses  and  two  daily  papers,  and 
there  air  fifteen  lawyers." 

"  It  seems  better  than  Cocoa  Nibs,"  said  Ladds. 

"  But  the  oil  may  run  dry." 

"  It  Aas  run  dry  in  Pennsylvania.  That  is  so,  and  I  do 
not  deny  it.  But  He  will  not  run  dry  in  Rockoleaville.  I 
have  been  thinking  over  the  geological  problem,  and  I 
have  solved  it,  all  by  myself." 

"  What  is  this  world,  gentlemen  ? " 

"A  round  ball,"  said  Jack,  with  the  promptitude  of  a 
Board  schoolboy  and  the  profundity  of  a  Woolwich 
cadet. 

"  Sir,  it  is  like  a  great  orange.     It  has  its  outer  rind, 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  I15 

what   they  call   the   crust.     Get   through  that   crust  and 
what  do  you  find  ?  " 

"  More  crust,"  replied  Ladds,  who  was  not  a  competition- 
wallah. 

"  Did  you  ever  eat  pumpkin-pie,  sir  ?  "  Mr.  Beck  replied, 
more  Socratico,  by  asking  another  question.  "  And  if  you 
did,  was  your  pie  all  crust  ?  Inside  that  pie,  sir,  was  pump- 
kin, apple,  and  juice.  So  inside  the  rind  of  the  earth 
there  may  be  all  sorts  of  things  :  gold  and  iron,  lava, 
diamonds,  coals  ;  but  the  juice,  the  pie-juice,  is  He.  You 
tap  the  rind  and  you  get  the  He.  This  He  will  run,  I  cal- 
culate, for  five  thousand  and  fifty-two  years,  if  they  don't 
sinfully  waste  it,  at  an  annual  consumption  of  eighteen 
million  bar'ls.  Now  that's  a  low  estimate  when  you 
consider  the  progress  of  civilisation.  When  it  is  all  gone, 
perhaps  before,  this  poor  old  airth  will  crack  up  like  an 
empty  ^g%r 

This  was  an  entirely  new  view  of  geology,  and  it 
required  time  for  Mr.  Beck's  hearers  to  grasp  the 
truth  thus  presented  to  their  minds.  They  were 
silent. 

"  At  Rockoleaville,"  he  went  on,  "  I've  got  the  pipe 
straight  into  the  middle  of  the  pie,  and  right  through 
the  crust.  There's  no  mistake  about  that  main  shaft. 
Other  mines  may  give  out,  but  my  He  will  run  for 
ever." 

"  Then  we  may  congratulate  you,"  said  Jack,  "  on  the 
possession  of  a  boundless  fortune." 

"You  may,  sir." 

"  And  what  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  " 

"  For  the  present  I  shall  stay  in  London.  I  like  your 
great  city.  Here  I  get  invited  to  dinner  and  dancin',  be- 
cause I  am  an  American  and  rich.  There  they  won't  have 
a  man  who  is  not  thoroughbred.  Your  friend  Mrs.  Cassi- 
lis  asks  me  to  her  house — a  first-rater.  A  New  York  lady 
turns  up  her  pretty  nose  at  a  man  who's  struck  He. 
'  Shoddy,'    she     says,   and     then    she     takes    no    more 


::i6  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

notice.  Shoddy  it  may  be.  Rough  my  manners  may 
be.  But  I  don't  pretend  to  anything,  and  the  stamps 
air  real." 

"  We  always  thought  ourselves  exclusive,"  said  Jack. 

"  Did  you,  sir  ?  Wall — "  He  stopped,  as  if  he  had  in- 
tended to  say  something  unpleasantly  true.  "  I  shall  live 
in  London  for  the  present.  I've  got  a  big  income,  and  I 
don't  rightly  know  what  to  do  with  it.  But  I  shall  find 
out  some  time. 

"  That  was  a  lovely  young  thing  with  Mrs.  Cassilis  the 
other  night,"  he  went  on  meditatively.  "  A  young  thing 
that  a  man  can  worship  for  her  beauty  while  she  is  young, 
and  her  goodness  all  her  life.  Not  like  an  American  gal. 
Ours  are  prettier,  but  they  look  as  if  they  would  blow 
away.  And  their  voices  are  not  so  full.  Miss  Fleming  is 
flesh  and  blood.  Don't  blush,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  because 
it  does  you  credit." 

Jack  did  blush,  and  they  took  their  departure. 

"  Mr.  Dunquerque,"  whispered  Gilead  P.  Beck  when 
Ladds  was  through  the  door,  "  think  of  what  I  told  you  ; 
what  is  mine  is  yours.  Remember  that.  If  I  can  do  any- 
thing for  you,  let  me  know.  And  come  to  see  me.  It 
does  me  good  to  look  at  your  face.  Come  here  as  often 
as  you  can." 

Jack  laughed  and  escaped. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

"  By  my  modesty, 
The  jewel  in  my  dower,  I  would  not  wish 
Any  companion  in  the  world  but  you." 

JACK  DUNQUERQUE  was  no  more  remarkable  for 
shrinking  modesty  than  any  other  British  youth  of  his 
era  ;  but  he  felt  some  little  qualms  as  he  walked  towards 
Bloomsbury  the  day  after  Mrs.  Cassilis's  dinner  to  avail 
himself  of  Phillis's  invitation. 

Was  it  coquetry,  or  was  it  simplicity  ? 
She  said  she  would  be  glad  to  see  him  at  luncheon. 
Who  else  would  be  there  ? 


THE    GOLDEN    liUTTERFLY.  II7 

Probably  a  Mrs.  Jagenal— doubtless  the  wife  of  the 
heavy  man  who  brought  Miss  Fleming  to  the  party  ;  her- 
self a  solid  person  in  black  silk  and  a  big  gold  chain  ; 
motherly  with  the  illiterate  Drj^ad. 

"  Houses  mighty  respectable,"  he  thought,  penetrating 
into  Carnarvon  Square.  "  Large  incomes  ;  comfortable 
quarters  ;  admirable  port,  most  likely,  in  most  of  them  ; 
claret  certainly  good,  too — none  of  your  Gladstone  tap  ; 
sherry  probably  rather  coarse.  Must  ask  for  Mrs.  Jage- 
nal, I  suppose." 

He  did  ask  for  Mrs,  Jagenal,  and  was  informed  by 
Jane  that  there  was  no  such  person,  and  that,  as  she  pres- 
ently explained  with  warmth,  no  such  person  was  desired 
by  the  household.  Jack  Dunquerque  thereupon  asked 
for  Mr.  Jagenal.  The  maid  asked  which  Mr.  Jagenal. 
Jack  replied  in  the  most  irritating  manner  possible — the 
Socratic — by  asking  another  question.  The  fact  that 
Socrates  went  about  perpetually  asking  questions  is  quite 
enough  to  account  for  the  joy  with  which  an  exasperated 
mob  witnessed  his  judicial  murder.  The  Athenians  bore 
for  a  good  many  years  with  his  maddening  questions — as 
to  whether  this  way  or  that  way  or  how — and  finally  lost 
patience.     Hence  the  little  bowl  of  drink. 

Quoth  Jack,  "  How  many  are  there  of  them  ?" 

Jane  looked  at  the  caller  with  suspicion.  He  seemed  a 
gentleman,  but  appearances  are  deceptive.  Suppose  he 
came  for  what  he  could  pick  up  ?  The  twins'  umbrellas 
were  in  the  hall,  and  their  great-coats.  He  laughed,  and 
showed  an  honest  front  ;  but  who  can  trust  a  London 
stranger  ?  Jane  remembered  the  silver  spoons  now  on 
the  luncheon-table,  and  began  to  think  of  shutting  the 
door  in  his  face. 

"  You  can't  be  a  friend  of  the  family,"  she  said,  "  else 
you'd  know  the  three  Mr.  Jagenals  by  name,  and  not 
come  here  showing  your  ignorance  by  asking  for  Mrs. 
Jagenal.  Mrs.  Jagenal  indeed  !  Perhaps  you'd  better 
call  in  the  evening  and  see  Mr.  Joseph." 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  I  am  not  a  friend  of  the  family,"  he  replied  meekly. 
"I  wish  I  was.  But  Miss  Fleming  expects  me  at  this 
hour.     Will  you  take  in  my  card  ?" 

He  stepped  into  the  hall,  and  felt  as  if  the  fortress  was 
won.  Phillis  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  dining-room, 
where,  he  observed,  luncheon  was  laid  for  two.  Was  he, 
then,  about  to  be  entertained  by  the  young  lady  alone  ? 

If  she  looked  dainty  in  her  white  evening  dress,  she 
was  far  daintier  in  her  half-mourning  grey  frock,  which 
fitted  so  tightly  to  her  slender  figure,  and  was  set  off  by 
the  narrow  black  ribbon  round  her  neck  which  was  her 
only  ornament ;  for  she  carried  neither  watch  nor  chain, 
and  wore  neither  ear-rings  nor  finger-rings.  This  heiress 
was  as  innocent  of  jewelery  as  any  little  milliner  girl  of 
Bond  Street,  and  far  more  happy,  because  she  did  not 
wish  to  wear  any. 

"  I  thought  you  would  come  about  this  time,"  she  said, 
with  the  kindliest  welcome  in  her  eyes  ;  "  and  I  waited  for 
you  here.     Let  us  sit  down  and  take  luncheon." 

Mr.  Abraham  Dyson  never  had  any  visitors  except  for 
dinner  or  luncheon  ;  so  that  Phillis  naturally  associated 
an  early  call  with  eating. 

"  I  always  have  luncheon  by  myself,"  explained  the 
young  hostess  ;  "  so  that  it  is  delightful  to  have  some  one 
who  can  talk." 

She  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  Jack  taking  his  seat  at 
the  side.  She  looked  fresh,  bright,  and  animated.  The 
sight  of  her  beauty  even  affected  Jack's  appetite,  although 
it  was  an  excellent  luncheon. 

"  This  curried  fowl,"  she  went  on.  *'  It  was  made  for 
Mr.  Jagenal's  brothers  ;  but  they  came  down  late,  and 
were  rather  cross.  We  could  not  persuade  them  to  eat 
anything  this  morning." 

"  Are  they  home  for  the  holidays  ?" 

Phillis  burst  out  laughing — such  a  fresh,  bright,  sponta- 
neous laugh.  Jack  laughed  too,  and  then  wondered  why 
he  did  it. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  IIQ 

"  Home  for  the  holidays  !  They  are  always  home,  and 
it  is  always  a  holiday  with  them." 

"  Do  you  not  allow  them  to  lunch  with  you  ?" 

She  laughed  again. 

"  They  do  not  breakfast  till  ten  or  eleven." 

Jack  felt  a  little  fogged,  and  waited  for  further  infor- 
mation. 

"  Will  you  take  beer  or  claret  ?  No,  thank  you  ;  no 
curry  for  me.  Jane,  Mr.  Dunquerque  will  take  a  glass  of 
beer.  How  beautiful !"  she  -went  on,  looking  steadily  in 
the  young  man's  face,  to  his  confusion — "  how  beautiful  it 
must  be  to  meet  a  man  whose  life  you  have  saved  !  I 
should  like — once — just  once — to  do  a  single  great  action, 
and  dream  of  it  ever  after." 

"  But  mine  was  not  a  great  action.  I  shot  a  bear  which 
was  following  Mr.  Beck  and  meant  mischief  ;  that  is  all, 

"  But  you  might  have  missed,"  said  Phillis,  with  justice. 
"  And  then  Mr.  Beck  would  have  been  killed." 

Might  have  missed  !  How  many  V.  C.'s  we  should 
have  but  for  that  simple  possibility  !  Might  have  missed! 
And  then  Gilead  Beck  would  have  been  clawed,  and  the 
Golden  Butterfly  destroyed,  and  this  history  never  have 
reached  beyond  its  first  chapter.  Above  all,  Phillis  might 
never  have  known  Jack  Dunquerque. 

"And  you  are  ahvays  alone  in  this  great  house  ?"  he 
asked,  to  change  the  subject. 

"  Only  in  the  day-time.  Mr.  Joseph  and  I  breakfast  at 
eight.  Then  I  walk  with  him  as  far  as  his  office  in  Lin- 
coln's Inn-Fields,  now  that  I  know  the  way.  At  first  he 
used  to  send  one  of  his  clerks  back  with  me,  for  fear  of 
my  being  lost.  But  I  felt  sorry  for  the  poor  young  man 
having  to  walk  all  the  way  with  a  girl  like  me,  and  so  I 
told  him,  after  the  second  day,  that  I  was  sure  he  longed  to 
be  at  his  writing,  and  I  would  go  home  by  myself." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Jack,  "  he  was  rejoiced  to  go  back  to 
his  pleasant  and  exciting  work.  All  lawyers'  clerks  are 
so  well  paid,  and  so  happy  in  their  occupation,  that  they 


I20  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

prefer    it    even    to   walking    with    a — a — a    Dryad." 

Phillis  was  dimly  conscious  that  there  was  more  in 
these  words  than  a  literal  statement.  She  was  as  yet  unac- 
quainted with  the  figures  of  speech  which  consist  of  say- 
ing one  thing  and  meaning  another,  and  she  made  a  men- 
tal note  of  the  fact  that  lawyers'  clerks  are  a  happy  and 
contented  race.  It  adds  something  to  one's  happiness  to 
know  that  others  are  also  happy. 

"  And  the  boys — Mr.  Jagenal's  brothers  ?" 

"  They  are  always  asleep  from  two  to  six.  Then  they 
come  down  to  dinner,  and  talk  of  the  work  they  have 
done.  Don't  you  know  them  ?  Oh,  they  are  not  boys  at 
all  !  One  is  Cornelius.  He  is  a  great  poet.  He  is  writ- 
ing a  long  epic  poem  called  the  Upheaving  of  Alfred. 
Humphrey,  his  brother,  says  it  will  be  the  greatest  work 
of  this  century.  But  I  do  not  think  very  much  is  done. 
Humphrey  is  a  great  artist,  you  know.  He  is  engaged 
on  a  splendid  picture — at  least  it  will  be  splendid  when  it 
is  finished.  At  present  nothing  is  on  the  canvas.  He 
says  he  is  studying  the  groups.  Cornelius  says  it  will  be 
the  finest  artistic  achievement  of  the  age.  Will  you  have 
some  more  beer  ?  Jane,  give  Mr.  Dunquerque  a  glass  of 
sherry.  And  now  let  us  go  into  the  drawing-room,  and  you 
shall  tell  me  all  about  my  guardian,  Lawrence  Colquhoun." 

In  the  hall  a  thought  struck  the  girl. 

**  Come  with  me,"  she  said  ;  "  I  will  introduce  you  to 
the  Poet  and  the  Painter.     You  shall  see  them  at  work." 

Her  eyes  danced  with  delight  as  she  ran  up  the  stairs, 
turning  to  see  if  her  guest  followed.  She  stopped  at  a 
door,  the  handle  of  which  she  turned  with  great  care. 
Jack  mounted  the  stairs  after  her. 

It  was  a  large  and  well-furnished  room.  Rows  of  books 
stood  in  order  on  the  shelves.  A  bright  fire  burned  on 
the  hearth.  A  portfolio  was  on  the  table,  with  a  clean 
inkstand  and  an  unsullied  blotting-pad.  By  the  fire  sat, 
in  a  deep  and  very  comfortable  easy-chair,  the  poet, 
sound  asleep. 


THE    GOLDEN    EUTTERrLV'.  121 

"  There  !"  she  whispered.  "  In  the  portfolio  is  the 
great  poem.     Look  at  it." 

"  We  ought  not  to  look  at  manuscripts,  ought  we  ?" 

"  Not  if  there  is  anything  written.  But  there  isn't.  Of 
course,  I  may  always  turn  over  any  pages,  because  I  can- 
not read." 

She  turned  them  over.  Nothing  but  blank  sheets,  white 
in  virgin  purity. 

Cornelius  sat  with  his  head  a  little  forward,  breathing 
rather  noisily. 

"  Isn't  it  hard  work  ?  "  laughed  the  girl.  "  Poor  fellow, 
isn't  it  exhaustive  work  ?  Let  me  introduce  you.  Mr. 
Cornelius  Jagenal,  Mr.  Ronald  Dunquerque."  Jack 
bowed  to  the  sleeping  bard.  "  Now  you  know  each  other. 
That  is  what  Mr.  Dyson  used  always  to  say.  Hush  !  we 
might  wake  him  up  and  interrupt — the  Work,  Come 
away,  and  I  will  show  you  the  Artist." 

Another  room  equally  well  furnished,  but  in  a  different 
manner.  There  were  "  properties  :  "  drinking-glasses  of 
a  deep  ruby  red,  luminous  and  splendid,  standing  on  the 
shelves  ;  flasks  of  a  dull  rich  green  ;  a  model  in  armour  ; 
a  lay  figure,  with  a  shawl  thrown  over  the  head  and  looped 
up  under  the  arm  ;  a  few  swords  hanging  upon  the  walls; 
curtains  that  caught  the  light  and  spread  it  over  the 
room  in  softened  colouring  ;  and  by  the  fire  a  couch,  on 
which  lay,  sleeping,  Humphrey  with  the  wealth  of  silky 
beard. 

There  was  an  easel,  and  on  it  a  canvas.  This  was  as 
blank  as  Cornelius's  sheets  of  paper. 

"  Permit  me  again,"  said  the  girl.  "  Mr.  Humphrey 
Jagtnal,  Mr.  Ronald  Dunquerque.  Now  you  know  each 
^>cner." 

Jack  bowed  low  to  the  genius. 

Phillis,  her  eyes  afloat  with  fun,  beckoned  the  young 
man  to  the  table.  Pencil  and  paper  lay  there.  She  sat 
down  and  drew  the  sleeping  painter  in  a  dozen  swift 
strokes.     Then  she  looked  up,  laughing: 


122  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  Is  that  like  him  ?  " 

Jack  could  hardly  repress  a  cry  of  admiration. 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  it  good.  Please  write  under- 
neath, '  The  Artist  at  work  '  Thank  you.  Is  that  it  ? 
We  will  now  pin  it  on  the  canvas.  Think  what  he  will 
say  when  he  wakes  up  and  sees  it." 

They  stole  out  again  as  softly  as  a  pair  of  burglars. 

"  Now  you  have  seen  the  Twins.  They  are  really  very 
nice,  but  they  drink  too  much  wine,  and  sit  up  late.  In 
the  morning  they  are  sometimes  troublesome,  when  they 
won't  take  their  breakfast ;  but  in  the  evening,  after  din- 
ner, they  are  quite  tractable.  And  you  see  how  they  spend 
their  day." 

"  Do  they  never  do  any  work  at  all  ? " 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think,"  she  replied  gravely.  "Mr. 
Dyson  used  to  tell  me  of  men  who  are  so  vain  that  they 
are  ashamed  to  give  the  world  anything  but  what  they 
know  to  be  the  best.  And  the  best  only  comes  by  succes- 
sive effort.  So  they  wait  and  wait,  till  the  time  goes  by, 
and  they  cannot  even  produce  second-rate  work.  I  think 
the  Twins  belong  to  that  class  of  people." 

By  this  time  they  were  in  the  drawing-room. 

"  And  now,"  said  Phillis,  "  you  are  going  to  tell  me  all 
about  my  guardian." 

"  Tell  me  something  more  about  yourself  first,"  said 
Jack,  not  caring  to  bring  Mr.  Lawrence  Colquhoun  into 
the  conversation  just  yet.  "  You  said  last  night  that  you 
would  show  me  your  drawings." 

"They  are  only  pencil  and  pen-and-ink  sketches." 
Phillis  put  a  small  porfolio  on  the  table  and  opened  it. 
"  This  morning  Mr.  Joseph  took  me  to  see  an  exhibition 
of  paintings.  Most  of  the  artists  in  that  exhibition  cannot 
draw,  but  some  can — and  then — Oh  !  " 

"  They  cannot  draw  better  than  you,  Miss  Fleming,  I 
am  quite  sure." 

She  shook  her  head  as  Jack  spoke,  turning  over  the 
sketches. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  123 

"  It  seems  so  strange  to  be  called  Miss  Fleming.  Every- 
body used  to  call  me  Phillis." 

"  Was — was  everybody  young  ?  "  Jack  asked,  with  an 
impertinence  beyond  his  years. 

"  No  ;  everybody  was  old.  I  suppose  young  people 
always  call  each  other  by  their  christian  names.  Yours 
seems  to  be  rather  stiff.  Ronald,  Ronald — I  am  afraid  I 
do  not  like  it  very  much." 

"  My  brothers  and  sisters,  uncles  and  aunts,  cousins  and 
kinsfolk — the  people  who  pay  my  debts  and  therefore  love 
me  most — call  me  Ronald.  But  everybody  else  calls  me 
Jack." 

"  Jack  !  "  she  murmured.  "  What  a  pretty  name  Jack 
is  !     May  I  call  you  Jack  ?  " 

"  If  you  only  would  !  "  he  cried,  with  a  quick  flushing 
of  his  cheek.  "  If  you  only  would  !  Not  when  other  peo- 
ple are  present,  but  all  to  ourselves,  when  we  are  together 
like  this.     That  is,  if  you  do  not  mind." 

Could  the  Serpent,  when  he  cajoled  Eve,  have  begun  in 
a  more  subtle  and  artful  manner  ?  One  is  ashamed  for 
Jack  Dunquerque. 

"  I  shall  always  call  you  Jack,  then,  unless  when  people 
like  Mrs.  Cassilis  are  present." 

"  And  what  am  I  to  call  you  ? " 

"  My  name  is  Phillis,  you  know."  But  she  knew,  be- 
cause her  French  maid  had  told  her,  that  some  girls  have 
names  of  endearment,  and  she  hesitated  a  little,  in  hope 
that  Jack  would  find  one  for  her. 

He  did.  She  looked  him  so  frankly  and  freely  in 
the  face  that  he  took  courage,  and  said  with  a  bold 
heart : 

"  Phillis  is  a   very  sweet   name.     Yon  know  the  song. 
Phillis  is  my  only  joy  ? '     I  ought  to  call   you   Miranda, 
the  Princess  of  the  Enchanted  Island.     But  it  would  be 
prettier  to  call  you  Phil. " 

**  Phil  !  "  Her  lips  parted  in  a  smile  of  themselves  as 
she  shaped  the  name.     It  is  a  name  which  admits  of  ex- 


124  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

pression.  You  may  lengthen  it  out  if  you  like  ;  you  may 
shorten  it  you  like.  "  Phil !  That  is  very  pretty.  No 
one  ever  called  me  Phil  before." 

"  And  we  will  be  great  friends,  shall  we  not  ? " 

"  Yes,  great  friends.  I  have  never  had  a  friend  at 
all." 

"  Let  us  shake  hands  over  our  promise.  Phil,  say, 
*  Jack  Dunquerque,  I  will  try  to  like  you,  and  I  will  be 
your  friend.*  " 

.  "  Jack  Dunquerque,"  she  placed  her  hands,  both  of 
them,  in  his  and  began  to  repeat,  looking  in  his  face 
quite  earnestly  and  solemnly,  "  I  v/ill  try — that  is  non- 
sense, because  I  do  like  you  very  much  already ;  and 
I  will  always  be  your  friend,  if  you  will  be  mine  and 
will  let  me." 

Then  he,  with  a  voice  that  shook  a  little,  because  he 
knew  that  this  was  very  irregular  and  even  wrong,  but 
that  the  girl  was  altogether  lovable,  and  a  maiden  to  be 
desired,  and  a  queen  among  girls,  and  too  beautiful  to  be 
resisted,  said  his  say  : 

"  Phil,  I  think  you  are  the  most  charming  girl  I  have 
ever  seen  in  all  my  life.  Let  me  be  your  friend  always, 
Phil.  Let  me  " — here  he  stopped,  with  a  guilty  tremor 
in  his  voice — **  I  hope — I  hope — that  you  will  always  go 
on  liking  me  more  and  more." 

He  held  both  her  pretty  shapely  hands  in  his  own.  She 
was  standing  a  little  back,  with  her  face  turned  up  to  his, 
and  a  bright  fearless  smile  upon  her  lips  and  in  her  eyes. 
Oh,  the  eyes  that  smile  before  the  lips  ! 

"  Some  people  seal  a  bargain,"  he  went  on,  hesitating 
and  stammering,  "after  the  manner  of  the — the — early 
Christians — with  a  kiss.     Shall  we,  Phil  ?" 

Before  she  caught  the  meaning  of  his  words  he  stooped 
and  drew  her  gently  towards  him.  Then  he  suddenly  re- 
leased her.  For  all  in  a  moment  the  woman  within  her, 
unknown  till  that  instant,  was  roused  into  life,  and  she 
shrank  back — without  the  kiss. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  J25 

Jack  hung  his  head  in  silence.  Phil,  in  silence,  too, 
stood  opposite  him,  her  eyes  upon  the  ground. 

She  looked  up  stealthily  and  trembled. 

Jack  Dunquerque  was  troubled  as  he  met  her  look. 

"  Forgive  me,  Phil,"  he  said  humbly.  "  It  was  wrong 
— I  ought  not.  Only  forgive  me,  and  tell  me  we  shall  be 
friends  all  the  same." 

"  Yes"  she  replied,  not  quite  knowing  what  she  said  ; 
"  I  forgive  you.     But,  Jack,  please  don't  do  it  again." 

Then  he  returned  to  the  drawings,  sitting  at  the 
table,  while  she  stood  over  him  and  told  him  what  they 
were. 

There  was  no  diffidence  or  mock-modesty  at  all  about 
her.  The  drawings  were  her  life,  and  represented  her  in- 
most thoughts.  She  had  never  shown  them  all  together 
to  a  single  person,  and  now  she  was  laying  them  all  open 
before  the  young  man  whom  yesterday  she  had  met  for 
the  first  time. 

It  seemed  to  him  as  if  she  were  baring  her  very  soul  for 
him  to  read. 

"  I  like  to  do  them,"  she  said,  "  because  then  I  can  re- 
call everything  that  I  have  done  or  seen.  Look  !  Here 
is  the  dear  old  house  at  Highgate,  where  I  stayed  for 
thirteen  years  without  once  going  beyond  its  walls. 
Ah,  how  long  ago  it  seems,  and  yet  it  is  only  a  week 
since  I  came  away  !  And  everything  is  so  different  to 
me  now." 

"  You  were  happy  there,  Phil  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  but  not  so  happy  as  I  am  now.  I  did  not  know 
you  then.  Jack." 

He  beat  down  the  temptation  to  take  her  in  his  arms 
and  kiss  her  a  thousand  times.  He  tried  to  sit  calmly 
critical  over  the  drawings.     But  his  hand  shook, 

"  Tell  me  about  it  all,"  he  said  softly. 

"  These  are  the  sketches  of  my  Highgate  life.  Stay  ; 
this  one  does  not  belong  to  this  set.  It  is  a  likeness  of 
2;ou,  which  I  drew  last  night  when  I  came  home." 


126  THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"  Did  you  really  draw  one  of  me  ?  Let  me  have  it.  Do 
let  me  have  it." 

"  It  was  meant  for  your  face.  But  I  could  do  a  better 
one  now.  See,  this  is  Mr.  Beck,  the  American  gentleman; 
and  this  is  Captain  Ladds,     This  is  Mr.  Cassilis." 

They  were  the  roughest  unfinished  things,  but  she  had 
seized  the  likeness  in  every  one. 

Jack  kept  his  own  portrait  in  his  hand. 

*'  Let  me  keep  it." 

"  Please,  no  ;  I  want  that  one  for  myself." 

Once  more,  and  for  the  last  time  in  his  Hfe,  a  little  dis- 
trust crossed  Jack  Dunquerque's  mind.  Could  this  girl, 
after  all,  be  only  the  most  accomplished  of  all  coquettes  ? 
He  looked  up  at  her  face  as  she  stood  beside  him,  and 
then  abused  himself  for  treachery  to  love. 

*'  It  is  like  me,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  pencil  portrait ; 
"  but  you  have  made  me  too  handsome." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  You  are  very  handsome,  I  think,"  she  said  gravely. 

He  was  not,  strictly  speaking,  handsome  at  all.  He 
was  rather  an  ugly  youth,  having  no  regularity  of  features. 
And  it  was  a  difficult  face  to  draw,  because  he  wore 
no  beard — nothing  but  a  light  moustache  to  help  it 
out. 

"  Phil,  if  you  begin  to  flatter  me  you  will  spoil  me  ;  and 
I  shall  not  be  half  so  good  a  friend  when  I  am  spoiled. 
Won't  you  give  this  to  me  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  keep  my  portfolio  all  to  myself.  But  I  will 
draw  a  better  one,  if  you  like,  of  you,  and  finish  it  up 
properly,  like  this." 

She  showed  him  a  pencil-drawing  of  a  face  which  Rem- 
brandt himself  would  have  loved  to  paint.  It  was  the 
face  of  an  old  man,  wrinkled  and  crows-fo9ted. 

"  That  is  my  guardian,  Mr.  Dyson.  I  will  draw  you  in 
the  same  style.  Poor  dear  guardian  !  I  think  he  was 
very  fond  of  me." 

Another  thought  struck  the  young  man. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  I27 

"  Phil,  will  you  instead  make  me  a  drawing — of  your 
own  face  ? " 

"  But  can  you  not  do  it  for  yourself  ? " 

"  I  ?     Phil,  I  could  not  even  draw  a  haystack." 

•*  What  a  misfortune  !  It  seems  worse  than  not  being 
able  to  read." 

"  Draw  me  a  picture  of  yourself,  Phil." 

She  considered. 

"  Nobody  ever  asked  me  to  do  that  yet.  And  I  never 
drew  my  own  face.  It  would  be  nice,  too,  to  think  that 
you  had  a  likeness  of  me,  particularly  as  you  cannot  draw 
yourself.  Jack,  would  you  mind  if  it  were  not  much  like 
me?" 

*•  I  should  prefer  it  like  you.  Please  try.  Give  me 
yourself  as  you  are  now.  Do  not  be  afraid  of  making  it 
too  pretty." 

"  I  will  try  to  make  it  like.  Here  is  Mrs.  Cassilis.  She 
did  not  think  it  was  very  good." 

*'  Phil,  you  are  a  genius.  Do  you  know  that  ?  I  hold 
you  to  your  promise.  You  will  draw  a  portrait  of 
yourself,  and  I  will  frame  it  and  hang  it  up — no,  I  won't 
do  that ;  I  will  keep  it  myself,  and  look  at  it  when  no  one 
is  with  me." 

"  That  seems  very  pleasant, '  said  Phil,  reflecting.  *'  I 
should  like  to  think  that  you  are  looking  at  me  sometimes. 
Jack,  I  only  met  you  yesterday,  and  we  are  old  friends 
already." 

"  Yes  ;  quite  old  familiar  friends,  are  we  not  ?  Now 
tell  all  about  yourself." 

She  obeyed.  It  was  remarkable  how  readily  she  obeyed 
the  orders  of  this  new  friend,  and  told  him  all  about  her 
life  with  Mr.  Dyson — the  garden  and  paddock,  out  of 
which  she  never  went,  even  to  church  ;  the  pony,  the 
quiet  house,  and  the  quiet  life  with  the  old  man  who 
taught  her  by  talking  ;  her  drawing  and  her  music ; 
and  her  simple  wonder  what  life  was  like  outside  the 
gates. 


128  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  Did  you  never  go  to  church,  Phil  ? " 

"  No  ;  we  had  prayers  at  home  ;  and  on  Sunday  even- 
ings I  sang  hymns." 

Clearly  her  religions  education  had  been  grossly 
neglected.  "  Never  heard  of  a  Ritualist,"  thought  Jack, 
with  a  feeling  of  gladness.  "  Doesn't  know  anything  about 
vestments  ;  isn't  learned  in  school  feasts  ;  and  never  at- 
tended a  tea-meeting.  This  girl  is  a  Phoenix."  Why — 
why  was  he  a  Younger  Son  ? 

"  And  is  Mr.  Cassilis  a  relation  of  yours  ? " 

"  No  ;  Mr.  Cassilis  is  Mr.  Dyson's  nephew.  All  Mr. 
Dyson's  fortune  is  left  to  found  an  institution  for  educa- 
ting girls  as  I  was  educated  " 

"  Without  reading  or  writing  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so.  Only,  you  see,  it  is  most  unfortunate 
that  my  own  education  is  incomplete,  and  they  cannotc  arry 
out  the  testator's  wishes,  Mr.  Jagenal  tells  me,  because 
they  have  not  been  able  to  find  the  concluding  chapters 
of  his  book.  Mr.  Dyson  wrote  a  book  on  it,  and  the  last 
chapter  was  called  the  *  Coping-stone.'  I  do  not  know 
what  they  will  do  about  it.  Mr,  Cassilis  wants  to  have  the 
money  divided  among  the  relations,  I  know.  Isn't  it  odd  ? 
And  he  has  so  much  already." 

"  And  I  have  got  none." 

"  O  Jack  !  take  some  of  mine — do  !  I  know  I  have 
such  a  lot  somewhere  ;    and   I   never  spend  anything." 

"  You  are  very  good,  Phil  ;  but  that  will  hardly  be 
right  But  do  you  know  it  is  five  o'clock  ?  We  have 
been  talking  for  three  hours.  I  must  go — alas,  I  must 
go  ! 

"  And  you  have  told  me  nothing  at  all  yet  about  Mr. 
Colquhoun." 

"  When  I  see  you  next  I  will  tell  you  w^at  I  know  of 
him.    Good-bye,  Phil." 

"  Jack,  come  and  see  ms  again  soon." 

""Wkec  may  I  come?  Not  to-morrow — that  would  be 
«oo  soon.     The  day  after.     Phil,  make  me  the  likeness, 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  '  I29 

and  send  it  to  me  by  post.     I  forgot  you  cannot  write." 

He  wrote  his  address  on  a  a  sheet  of  foolscap. 

"  Fold  it  in  that,  with  this  address  outside,  and  post  it 
to  me.  Come  again,  Phil  ?  I  should  like  to  come  every 
day,  and  stay  all  day."  He  pressed  her  hand  and  was 
gone. 

Phillis  remained  standing  where  he  left  her.  What  had 
happened  to  her  ?  Why  did  she  feel  so  oppressed  ?  Why 
did  the  tears  crowd  her  eyes  ?  Five  o'clock.  It  wanted 
an  hour  of  dinner,  when  she  would  have  to  talk  to  the 
Twin  brethren.  She  gathered  up  her  drawings  and  re- 
treated to  her  own  room  As  she  passed  Humphrey's 
door,  she  heard  him  saying  to  Jane  : 

"  The  tea,  Jane  ?  Have  I  really  been  asleep  ?  A  most 
extraordinary  thing  for  me." 

"  Now  he  will  see  the  drawing  of  the  'Artist  at  Work,' " 
thought  Phillis.  But  she  did  not  laugh  at  the  idea,  as  she 
had  done  when  she  perpetrated  the  joke.  She  had  sud- 
denly grown  graver. 

She  began  her  own  likeness  at  once.  But  she  could 
not  satisfy  herself.  She  tore  up  half  a  dozen  beginnings. 
Then  she  changed  her  mind.  She  drew  a  little  group  of 
two.  One  was  a  young  man,  tall,  shapely,  gallant,  with  a 
queer  attractive  face,  who  held  the  hands  of  a  girl  in  his, 
and  was  bending  over  her.  Somehow  a  look  of  love,  a 
strange  and  new  expression,  which  she  had  never  seen 
before  in  human  eyes,  lay  in  his.  She  blushed  while  she 
drew  her  own  face  looking  up  in  that  other,  and  yet  she 
drew  it  faithfully,  and  was  only  half  conscious  how  sweet 
a  face  she  drew  and  how  like  it  was  to  her  own.  Nor 
could  she  understand  why  she  felt  ashamed. 

"Come  again  soon.  Jack." 

The  words  rang  in  the  young  man's  ears,  bnt  they  rang 
like  bells  of  accusation  and  reproach.  This  girl,  so  sweet, 
so  fresh,  so  unconventional,  what  would  she  think  when 
she  learned,  as  she  must  learn  some  day,  how  great  was 
his  sin  against  her  ?    And  what  would  Lawrence  Colqu- 


130  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

houn  say  !  And  what  would  the  lawyer  say  ?  And  what 
would  the  world  say  ? 

The  worst  was  that  his  repentance  would  not  take  the 
proper  course.  He  did  not  repent  of  taking  her  hands — 
he  trembled  and  thrilled  when  he  thought  of  it — he  only 
repented  of  the  swiftness  with  which  the  thing  was  done, 
and  was  afraid  of  the  consequences. 

"  And  I  am  only  a  Younger  Son,  Tommy  " — he  made 
his  plaint  to  Ladds,  who  received  a  full  confession  of  the 
whole — "  only  a  Younger  Son,  with  four  hundred  a  year. 
And  she's  got  fifty  thousand.  They  will  say  I  wanted  her 
money.  I  wish  she  had  nothing  but  the  sweet  grey 
dress  " 

"  Jack,  don't  blaspheme.  Goodness  sometimes  palls  ; 
beauty  always  fades  ;  grey  dresses  certainly  wear  out; 
figures  alter  for  the  worse  ;  the  funds  remain.  I  am 
always  thankful  for  the  thought  which  inspired  Ladds* 
Perfect  Cocoa.  The  only  true  Fragrance.  Aroma  and 
Nutrition." 

Humphrey  did  not  discover  the  little  sketch  before  din- 
ner, so  that  his  conversation  was  as  animated  and  as  artis- 
tic as  usual.  At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  discovered 
it  And  at  three  o'clock  the  Twins,  after  discussing  the 
picture  with  its  scoffing  legend  in  all  its  bearings,  went  to 
bed  sorrowful. 

CHAPTER  X. 

"  I  have  in  these  rough  words  shaped  out  a  man 
Whom  this  beneath  world  doth  embrace  and  hug 
With  amplest  entertainment." 

MR.  GABRIEL  CASSILIS,  who,  like  Julius  Csesar 
and  other  illustrious  men,  was  always  spoken  of  by 
both  his  names,  stepped  from  his  carriage  at  the  door  of 
the  Langham  Hotel  and  slowly  walked  up  the  stairs  to 
Mr.  Beck's  room.  He  looked  older,  longer,  and  thinner 
in  the  morning  than  in  the  evening.  He  carried  his  hands 
behind  him  and  bore  a  look  of  pre-occupation  and  care. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  I3I 

The  man  of  unlimited  credit  was  waiting  for  him,  and, 
with  his  first  cigar,  pacing  the  room  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets. 

"  I  got  your  letter,"  said  Mr.  CassiUs,  "  and  telegraphed 
to  you  because  I  was  anxious  not  to  miss  you.  My  time 
is  valuable — not  so  valuable  as  yours,  but  still  worth  some- 
thing." 

He  spread  his  hands  palm  downwards,  and  at  right 
angles  to  the  perpendicular  line  of  his  body,  had  that  been 
erect.  But  it  was  curved,  like  the  figure  of  the  man  with 
the  forelock. 

"  Still  worth  something,"  he  repeated.  "  But  I  am  here, 
Mr.  Beck,  and  ready  to  be  of  any  service  that  I  can." 

"  My  time  is  worth  nothing,"  said  the  American,  "  be- 
cause my  work  is  done  for  me.  When  I  was  paid  by  the 
hour,  it  was  worth  the  hour's  pay." 

"  But  now,"  Mr.  Cassilis  interposed,  "  it  is  worth  at  the 
rate  of  your  yearly  income.  And  I  observe  that  you  have 
unlimited  credit — un-lim-it-ed  credit.  That  is  what  we 
should  hardly  give  to  a  Rothschild." 

He  wanted  to  know  what  unlimited  credit  really  meant. 
It  was  a  thing  hitherto  beyond  his  experience. 

"  It  is  my  Luck,"  said  Mr.  Beck.  "  He,  as  everybody 
knows,  is  not  to  be  approached.  You  may  grub  for 
money  like  a  Chinee,  and  you  may  scheme  for  it  Hke  a 
Boss  in  a  whisky-ring.  But  for  a  steady  certain  flow  there 
is  nothing  like  He.  And  I,  sir,  have  struck  He  as  it  never 
was  struck  before,  because  my  well  goes  down  to  the 
almighty  reservoir  of  this  great  world." 

"  I  congratulate  you,  Mr.  Beck." 

"  And  I  have  ventured,  sir,  on  the  strength  of  that  in- 
troductory letter,  to  ask  you  for  advice.  '  Mr.  Cassilis,'  I 
was  told,  *  has  the  biggest  head  in  all  London  for  knowl- 
edge of  money.'  And,  as  I  am  going  to  be  the  biggest 
man  in  all  the  States  for  income,  I  come  to  you." 

"  I  am  not  a  professional  adviser,  Mr.  Beck.  What  I 
could  do  for  you  would  not  be  a  matter  of  business.     It  is 


132  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

true  that,  as  a  friend  only,  I  might  advise  you  as  to  invest- 
ments, I  could  show  you  where  to  place  money  and  how 
to  use  it." 

"  Sir,  you  double  the  obligation.  In  America  we  do 
nothing  without  an  equivalent.  Here  men  seem  to  work 
as  hard  without  being  paid  as  those  who  get  wages. 
Why,  sir,  I  hear  that  young  barristers  do  the  work  of 
others  and  get  nothing  for  it ;  doctors  work  for  nothing 
in  hospitals  ;  and  authors  write  for  publishers  and  get 
nothing  from  them.     This  is  a  wonderful  country." 

Mr.  Cassilis,  at  any  rate,  had  never  worked  for  nothing. 
Nor  did  he  propose  to  begin  now.    But  he  did  not  say  so. 

He  sat  nursing  his  leg,  looking  up  at  the  tall  American 
who  stood  over  him.  They  were  two  remarkable  faces, 
that  thus  looked  into  each  other.  The  American's  was 
grave  and  even  stern.  But  his  eyes  were  soft.  The 
Englishman's  was  grave  also.  But  his  eyes  were  hard. 
They  were  not  stealthy,  as  of  one  contemplating  a  fraud, 
but  they  were  curious  and  watchful,  as  of  one  who  is 
about  to  strike  and  is  looking  for  the  fittest  place — that  is, 
the  weakest. 

"  Will  you  take  a  drink,  Mr.  Cassilis  ?" 

"A — a — a  drink?"  The  invitation  took  him  aback 
altogether,  and  disturbed  the  current  of  his  thoughts. 
"  Thank  you,  thank  you.     Nothing." 

"In  the  silver-mines  I've  seen  a  man  threatened  with. a 
bowie  for  refusing  a  drink.  And  I've  known  temperate 
men  anxious  for  peace  take  drinks,  when  they  were 
offered,  till  their  back  teeth  were  under  whisky.  But  I 
know  your  English  custom,  Mr.  Cassilis.  When  you  don't 
feel  thirsty  you  say  so.     Now  let  us  go  on,  sir." 

"  Our  New  York  friend  tells  me,  Mr.  Beck,  that  you 
would  find  it  difficult  to  spend  your  income." 

Mr.  Beck  brightened.  He  sat  down  and  assumed  a  con- 
fidential manner. 

"  That's  the  hitch.  That's  what  I  am  here  for.  In 
America  yl5u   may  chuck   a  handsome   pile  on  yourself. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  133 

But  when  you  get  out  of  yourself,  unless  you  were  to  buy 
a  park  for  the  people  in  the  centre  of  New  York 
City,  I  guess  you  would  find  it  difficult  to  get  rid  of  your 
money." 

"  It  depends  mainly  on  the  amount  of  that  money." 

"  We'll  come  to  figures,  sir,  and  you  shall  judge  as  my 
friendly  adviser.  My  bar'ls  bring  me  in,  out  of  my 
first  well,  2,500  dollars,  and  that's  ;!^5oo  a  day,  without 
counting  Sundays.  And  there's  a  dozen  wells  of  mine 
around,  not  so  good,  that  are  worth  between  them  another 
;^8oo  a  day." 

Mr.  Cassilis  gasped. 

"  Do  you  mean,  Mr.  Beck,  do  you  actually  mean  that 
you  are  drawing  a  profit,  a  clear  profit,  of  more  than 
;^i,3oo  a  day  from  your  rock-oil  shafts  ?  " 

"That  is  it,  sir — that  is  the  lowest  figure.  Say  jCi,S°o 
a  day." 

"  And  how  long  has  this  been  going  on  ? " 

"  Close  upon  ten  months." 

Mr.  Cassilis  produced  a  pencil  and  made  a  little  calcu- 
lation. 

"  Then  you  are  worth  at  this  moment,  allowing  for  Sun- 
days, at  least  a  quarter  of  a  million  sterling." 

**  Wal,  I  think  it  is  near  that  figure.  We  can  telegraph 
to  New  York,  if  you  like,  to  find  out.  I  don't  quite  know 
within  a  hundred  thousand." 

**  And  a  yearly  income  of  ^^500,000,  Mr.  Beck  !  "  said 
Mr.  Cassilis,  rising  solemnly.  "  Let  me — allow  me  to 
shake  hands  with  you  again.  I  had  no  idea,  not  the 
slightest  idea,  in  asking  you  to  my  house  the  other  day, 
that  I  was  entertaining  a  man  of  so  much  weight  and  such 
enormous  power." 

He  shook  hands  with  a  mixture  of  deference  and  friend- 
ship. Then  he  looked  again,  with  a  watchful  glance,  at 
the  tall  and  wiry  American  with  the  stern  face,  the  grave 
oyes,  the  mobile  lips,  and  the  muscular  frame,  and  sat 
down  and  began  to  soliloquise. 


134  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"  We  are  accustomed  to  think  that  nothing  can  com- 
pare with  the  great  landholders  of  this  country  and 
Austria.  There  are  two  or  three  incomes  perhaps  in 
Europe,  not  counting  crowned  heads,  which  approach 
your  own,  Mr.  Beck,  but  they  are  saddled.  Their  owners 
have  great  houses  to  keep  up  ;  armies  of  servants  to  main 
tain  ;  estates  to  nurse  ;  dilapidations  to  make  good  ;  farm- 
ers to  satisfy  ;  younger  sons  to  provide  for  ;  poor  people 
to  help  by  hundreds  ;  and  local  charities  to  assist.  Why, 
I  do  not  believe,  when  all  has  been  provided  for,  that  a 
great  man,  say  the  Duke  of  Berkshire,  with  coal-mines  and 
quarries,  Scotch,  Irish,  Welsh,  and  English  estates,  has 
more  to  put  by  at  the  end  of  the  year  than  many  a  London 
merchant." 

"  That  is  quite  right,"  said  Mr.  Beck  ;  "  a  merchant 
must  save,  because  he  may  crack  up  ;  but  the  land  don't 
run  away.  When  you  want  stability,  you  must  go  to  the 
Airth.  Outside  there's  the  fields,  the  rivers,  the  hills.  In- 
side there's  the  mines,  and  there's  He  for  those  who  can 
strike  it." 

"What  an  income  !  "  Mr.  Cassilis  went  on.  "  Nothing 
to  squander  it  on.  No  duties  and  no  responsibilities. 
No  tenants  ;  no  philanthropy  ;  no  frittering  away  of  capi- 
tal. You  can't  spend  a  tenth  part  of  it  on  yourself.  And 
the  rest  accumulates  and  grows — grows — spreads  and 
grows."  He  spread  out  his  hands,  and  a  flush  of  envy 
came  into  his  cheeks.  "Mr.  Beck,  I  congratulate  you  again." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

"  I  see,  Mr,  Beck — you  are  yet  an  unmarried  man,  I  be- 
lieve, and  without  children — I  foresee  boundless  possibili- 
ties. You  may  marry  and  found  a  great  family  ;  you 
may  lay  yourself  out  for  making  a  fortune  so  great  that  it 
may  prove  a  sensible  influence  on  the  course  of  events. 
You  may  bequeath  to  your  race  the  tradition  of  good  for- 
tune and  the  habit  of  making  money." 

"  My  sons  may  take  care  of  themselves,"  said  Mr.  Beck; 
"  I  want  to  spend  money,  not  to  save  it," 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  I35 

It  was  remarkable  that  during  all  this  generous  outburst 
of  vicarious  enthusiasm  Mr.  Beck's  face  showed  no  inter- 
est whatever.  He  had  his  purpose,  but  it  was  not  the 
purpose  of  Mr.  Cassilis.  To  found  a  family,  to  become  a 
Rothschild,  to  contract  loans — what  were  these  things  to 
a  man  who  felt  strongly  that  he  had  but  one  life,  that  he 
wished  to  make  the  most  of  it,  and  that  the  world  after 
him  might  get  on  as  it  could  without  his  posthumous  in- 
terference ? 

"  Listen  Mr.  Beck,  for  one  moment.  Your  income  is 
^500,000  a  year.  You  may  spend  on  your  own  simple 
wants  ;2^5,ooo.  Bah  !  a  trifle — not  a  quarter  of  the  inter- 
est. You  save  the  whole  ;  in  ten  years  you  have  three 
millions.     You  are  still  under  fifty  ? " 

"  Forty-five,  sir." 

•'  I  wish  I  was  forty-five.  You  may  live  and  work  for 
another  quarter  of  a  century.  In  that  time  you  ought  to 
be  worth  twelve  millions  at  least.     Twelve  millions  !  " 

"  Nearly  as  much  as  ran  away  and  was  lost  when  the 
He  was  struck,"  said  Mr.  Beck.  *'  Hardly  worth  while  to 
work  for  five-and-twenty  years  in  order  to  save  what 
Nature  spent  in  three  days,  is  it  ?  " 

What,  says  the  proverb,  is  easily  got  is  lightly  regarded. 
This  man  made  money  so  easily  that  he  despised  the  slow, 
gradual  building  up  of  an  immense  fortune. 

"  There  is  nothing  beyond  the  reach  of  a  man  with 
twelve  millions,"  Mr.  Cassilis  went  on.  "  He  may  rule 
the  world,  so  long  as  there  are  poor  states  with  vast 
armies  who  want  to  borrow.  Why,  at  the  present  moment 
a  man  with  twelve  millions  at  his  command  could  under- 
take a  loan  with  Russia,  Austria,  Turkey,  Italy,  or  Egypt. 
He  could  absolutely  govern  the  share  market ;  he  could 
rule  the  bank  rate  " 

Mr.  Beck  interrupted,  quite  unmoved  by  these  visions 
of  greatness  : 

*'  Wall,  sir,  I  am  not  ambitious,  and  I  leave  Providence 
to  manage  the  nations  her  own  way.    I  might  meddle  and 


136  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

muss  till  I  busted  up  the  whole  concern  ;  play,  after  all, 
into  the  hands  of  the  devil,  and  have  the  people  praying 
to  get  back  to  their  old  original  Providence." 

"  Or  suppose,"  Mr.  Cassilis  went  on,  his  imagination 
fired  with  the  contemplation  of  possibilities  so  far  beyond 
his  own  reach — "  suppose  you  were  to  buy  up  land — to 
buy  all  that  comes  into  the  market.  Suppose  you  were  to 
hand  down  to  your  sons  a  traditional  policy  of  buying  land 
with  the  established  principle  of  primogeniture.  In 
twenty  years  you  might  have  great  estates  in  twenty 
counties  " 

"  I  could  have  half  a  state,"  said  Mr.  Beck,  "  if  I  went 
out  West." 

"In  your  own  lifetime  you  could  control  an  election, 
make  yourself  President,  carry  your  own  principles,  force 
your  opinions  on  the  country,  and  become  the  greatest 
man  in  it. " 

"  The  greatest  country  in  the  world  is  the  United  States 
of  America — that  is  a  fact,"  said  Mr,  Beck,  laughing  ;  "  so 
the  greatest  man  in  it  must  be  the  greatest  man  in  the 
world.  I  calculate  that's  a  bitter  reflection  for  Prince 
Bismarck  when  he  goes  to  bed  at  night ;  also  for  the  Em- 
peror of  all  the  Russias.  And  perhaps  your  Mr.  Glad- 
stone would  like  to  feel  himself  on  the  same  level  with 
General  Ulysses  Grant." 

"  Mr.  Beck,"  cried  Mr.  Cassilis,  rising  to  his  feet  in  an 
irrepressible  burst  of  genuine  enthusiasm,  and  working  his 
right  hand  round  exactly  as  if  he  was  really  Father  Time, 
whom  he  so  much  resembled — **  Mr.  Beck,  I  consider  you 
the  most  fortunate  man  in  the  world.  We  slowly  amass 
money — for  our  sons  to  dissipate.  Save  when  a  title  or  an 
ancient  name  entails  a  conservative  tradition  which  keeps 
the  property  together,  the  process  in  this  country  and  in 
yours  is  always  the  same.  The  strong  men  climb,  and 
the  weak  men  fall.  And  even  to  great  houses  like  the 
Grosvenors,  which  have  been  carried  upwards  by  a  steady 
ti^e  pf  fortune,  there  will  surely  one  day  come  a  fool,  and 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY,  137 

then  the  tide  will  turn.     But  for  you  and  yours,  Mr.  Beck, 
Nature  pours  out  her  inexhaustible  treasures  " 

"  She  does,  sir — in  He." 

"  You  may  spend,  but  your  income  will  always  go  on 
increasing." 

"  To  a  certain  limit,  sir — to  five  thousand  and  fifty-three 
years.  I  have  had  it  reckoned  by  one  of  our  most  distin- 
guished mathematicians.  Professor  Hercules  Willemott,  of 
Cyprus  University,  Wisconsin.  He  made  the  calculations 
for  me." 

"  Limit  or  not,  Mr.  Beck,  you  are  now  a  most  fortunate 
man.  And  I  shall  be  entirely  at  your  service.  I  believe," 
he  added  modestly,  "  that  I  have  some  little  reputation  in 
financial  circles." 

"  That  is  so,  sir.  And  now  let  me  put  my  case.'  Mr. 
Beck  became  once  more  animated  and  interested.  "  Sup- 
pose, sir,  I  was  to  say  to  you,  *  I  have  more  than  enough 
money,  I  will  take  the  Luck  of  the  Golden  Butterfly  and 
make  it  the  Luck  of  other  people." 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Mr.  Cassilis. 

"  Sir,  what  do  you  do  with  your  own  money  ?  You  do 
not  spend  it  all  on  yourself?" 

•*  I  use  it  to  make  more." 

"And  when  you  have  enough  ?" 

"  We  look  at  things  from  a  different  point  of  view,  Mr. 
Beck.  Vou  have  enough  ;  but  I,  whatever  be  my  success, 
can  never  approach  the  fourth  part  of  your  income.  How- 
ever, let  me  understand  what  you  want  to  do,  and  I  will 
give  such  advice  as  I  can  offer." 

"  That's  kind,  sir,  and  what  I  expected  of  you.  It  is  a 
foolish  fancy,  and  perhaps  you'll  laugh  ;  but  I  have  heard 
day  and  night,  ever  since  the  He  began  to  run,  a  voice 
which  says  to  me  always  the  same  thing — I  think  it  is  the 
voice  of  my  Golden  Butterfly  :  *  What  you  can't  spend, 
give.'  *  What  you  can't  spend,  give.'  That's  my  duty, 
Mr.  Cassilis  ;  that's  the  path  marked  out  before  me,  plain 
and  shinin'  as  the  way  to  heaven.     What  I  can't  spend,  I 


138  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

must  give.  I've  given  nothing  as  yet.  And  I  am  here  in 
this  country  of  giving  to  find  out  how  to  do  it."' 

"  We — I  mean   the — the  " Mr.  Cassilis   was   on  the 

point  of  saying  "the  Idiots,"  but  refrained  in  time. 
"  The  people  who  give  money  send  it  to  charities  and  ins- 
titutions." 

"  I  know  that  way,  sir.  It  is  like  paying  a  priest  to  say 
your  prayers  for  you." 

"  When  the  secretaries  get  the  money  they  pay  them- 
selves their  own  salaries  first ;  then  they  pay  for  the  rent, 
the  clerks,  and  the  advertising.  What  remains  goes  to  the 
charity." 

"  That  is  so,  sir ;  and  I  do  not  like  that  method.  I 
want  to  go  right  ahead  ;  find  out  what  to  do,  and  then  do 
it.     But  I  must  feel  like  giving,  whatever  I  do." 

"  Your  countryman,  Mr.  Peabody,  gave  his  money  in 
trust  for  the  London  poor.  Would  you  like  to  do  the 
same  ?" 

"  No,  sir ;  I  should  not  like  to  imitate  that  example. 
Mr.  Peabody  was  a  great  man,  and  he  meant  well  ;  but  1 
want  to  work  for  myself.  Let  a  man  do  all  the  good 
and  evil  he  has  to  do  in  his  lifetime,  not  leave  his  work 
dragging  on  after  he  is  dead.  *  They  that  go  -down  into 
the  pit  cannot  hope  for  the  truth.'  Do  you  remember  that 
text,  Mr.  Cassilis?  It  means  that  you  must  not  wait  till 
you  are  dead  to  do  what  you  have  to  do." 

Mr.  Cassilis  altered  his  expression,  which  was  before  of  a 
puzzled  cheerfulness,  as  if  he  failed  to  see  his  way,  into  one 
of  unnatural  solemnity.  It  is  the  custom  of  certain  English- 
men if  the  Bibie  is  quoted.  He  knew  no  more  than  Adam 
what  part  of  the  Bible  it  came  from.  But  he  bowed,  and 
pulled  out  his  handkerchief  as  if  he  was  at  a  funeral.  In 
fact,  this  unexpected  hurling  of  a  text  at  his  head  floored 
him  for  the  moment. 

Mr.  Beck  was  quite  grave  and  in  much  earnestness. 

"  There  is  another  thing.  If  I  leave  this  money  in 
trust,  how  do  I  know  1  hat  my  purpose  will  be  carried  out  ? 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  I39 

In  a  hundred  years  things  will  get  mixed.  My  bequests 
may  be  worth  millions,  or  they  may  be  worth  nothing. 
The  lawyers  may  fight  over  the  letter  of  the  will,  and  the 
spirit  may  be  neglected." 

"  It  is  the  Dead  Hand  that  you  dread." 

"  That  may  be  so,  sir.  You  air  in  the  inside  track,  and 
you  ought  to  know  what  to  call  it.  But  no  Hand,  dead 
or  alive,  shall  ever  get  hold  of  my  stamps." 

"  Your  stamps  ?" 

"  My  stamps,  sir;  my  greenbacks,  my  dollars.  For  I've 
got  them,  and  I  mean  to  spend  them.  *  Spend  what  you 
can,  and  give  what  you  cannot  spend,'  says  the  Voice  to 
Gilead  P.  Beck." 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,  if  you  mean  to  give  away  a  quarter 
of  a  million  a  year,  you  will  have  every  improvident  and 
extravagant  rogue  in  the  country  about  you.  You  will 
have  to  answer  hundreds  of  letters  a  day.  You  will  be 
deluged  with  prospectuses,  forms,  and  appeals.  You  will 
he  called  names  unless  you  give  to  this  institution  or  to 
that " 

"  I  shall  give  nothing  to  any  society." 

"  And  what  about  the  widows  of  clergymen,  the  daugh- 
ters of  officers,  the  nieces  of  Church  dignitaries,  the  gov- 
erness who  is  starving,  the  tradesman  who  wants  a  hun- 
hundred  pounds  for  a  fortnight,  and  will  repay  you  with 
blessings  and  25  per  cent ,  after  depositing  in  your  hand 
as  security  all  his  pawn-tickets." 

"  Every  boat  wants  steering,  but  I  was  not  born  last 
Sunday,  and  the  ways  of  big  cities,  though  they  may  be 
crooked,  air  pretty  well  known  to  me.  There  are  not 
many  lines  of  life  in  which  Gilead  P.  Beck  has  not  tried 
to  walk." 

"  My  dear  sir,  do  you  propose  to  act  the  part  of  Uni- 
versal Philanthropist  and  Distributor  at  large  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  do  not.  And  that  puzzles  me  too.  I  should 
like  to  be  quiet  over  it.  There  was  a  man  down  to  Lex- 
ington, when  I  was  a  boy,  who  said   he  liked  his  religion 


14©  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

nnostentatious.  So  he  took  a  pipe  on  a  Sunday  morning 
and  sat  in  the  churchyard  listening  to  the  bummin'  and 
the  singin'  within.  Perhaps,  sir,  that  man  knew  his  own 
business.  Perhaps  thoughts  came  over  his  soul  when  they 
gave  out  the  Psalm  that  he  wouldn't  have  had  if  he'd  gone 
inside,  to  sit  with  his  back  upright  against  a  plank,  his 
legs  curled  up  below  the  seat,  and  his  eyes  wandering 
around  among  the  gells.  Maybe  that  is  my  case,  too,  Mr. 
Cassilis.     I  should  like  my  giving  to  be  unostentatious." 

"  Give  what  you  cannot  spend,"  said  Mr.  Cassilis. 
'*  There  are  at  any  rate  plenty  of  ways  of  spending.  Let 
us  attend  to  them  first." 

"  And  there's  another  thing,  sir,"  Mr.  Beck  went  on, 
shifting  his  feet  and  looking  uneasy  and  distressed.  "  It's 
on  my  mind  since  I  met  the  young  gentleman  at  your 
house.  I  want  to  do  something  big,  something  almighty 
big,  for  Mr.  Ronald  Dunquerque." 

'*  Because  he  killed  the  bear  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  because  he  saved  my  life.  Without  that  shot 
the  Luck  of  Gilead  P.  Beck  would  have  been  locked  up 
for  ever  in  that  little  box  where  the  Golden  Butterfly 
used  to  live.  What  can  I  do  for  him  ?  Is  the  young  gen- 
tleman rich  ?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  do  not  suppose — his  brother  is  one 
of  the  poorest  peers  in  the  house — that  the  Honorable 
Mr.  Ronald  Dunquerque  is  worth  ;^5oo  a  year.  Really,  I 
should  say  that  ^300  would  be  nearer  the  mark." 

'•  Then  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  I  am — well,  sir,  I  hope  I 
am  learning  what  a  gentleman  should  do  and  think  in  such 
a  position  as  the  Golden  Butterfly  has  brought  me  into. 
But  the  short  of  it  is  that  I  can't  say  to  him  :  "  Mr.  Dun- 
querque, I  owe  you  a  life,  and  here  is  a  cheque  for  so 
many  thousand  dollars.     I  can't  do  it,  sir." 

"  I  suppose  not.  But  there  are  ways  of  helping  a 
young  man  forward  without  giving  him  money.  You  can 
only  give  money  to  poets  and  «lergy4nen." 

<«  That  is  so,  sir." 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  I4I 

"  Wait  a  little  till  your  position  is  known  and  assured. 
You  will  then  be  able  to  assist  Mr.  Ronald  Dunquerque, 
as  much  as  you  please."  He  rose  and  took  up  his  gloves. 
"  And  now,  Mr.  Beck,  I  think  I  understand  you.  You 
wish  to  do  something  great  with  your  money.  Very 
good.  Do  not  be  in  a  hurry.  I  will  think  things  over. 
Meantime,  you  are  going  to  let  it  lie  idle  in  the  bank  ?" 

"Wal,  yes;  I  was  thinking  of  that." 

"  It  would  be  much  better  for  me  to  place  it  for  you  in 
good  shares,  such  as  I  could  recommend  to  you.  You 
would  then  be  able  to — to — give  away" — he  pronounced 
the  words  with  manifest  reluctance — "  the  interest  as  well 
as  the  principal.  Why  should  the  bankers  have  the  use 
of  it  ?" 

"  That  seems  reasonable,"  said  Mr.  Beck. 

Mr.  Cassilis  straightened  himself  and  looked  him  full  in 
the  face.     He  was  about  to  strike  his  blow. 

"  You  will  place  your  money,"  he  said  quietly,  as  if 
there  could  be  no  doubt  of  Mr.  Beck's  immediate  assent, 
"  in  my  hands  for  investment.  I  shall  recommend  you 
safe  things.  For  instance,  as  regards  the  shares  of  the 
George  Washington  Silver  Mine  " 

He  opened  his  pocket-book. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Beck  with  great  decision. 

"  I  was  about  to  observe  that  I  should  not  recommend 
such  an  investment.  I  think,  however,  I  could  place  im- 
mediately ;^2o,ooo  in  the  Isle  of  Man  Internal  Navigation 
Company." 

"  An  English  company  ?"  said  Mr.  Beck. 

"  Certainly.  I  propose,  Mr.  Beck,  to  devote  this  morn- 
ing to  a  consideration  of  investments  for  you.  I  shall  ad- 
vise you  from  day  to  day.  I  have  no  philanthropic  aims, 
and  financing  is  my  profession.  But  your  affairs  shall  be 
treated  together  with  mine,  and  I  shall  bring  to  bear  upon 
them  the  same — may  I  say  insight  ? — that  has  carried  my 
own  ventures  to  success.  For  this  morning  I  shall  only 
secure  you  the  Isle  of  Man  shares." 


142  THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

They  presently  parted,  with  many  expressions  of  grati- 
tude from  Mr.  Gilead  Beck. 

A  country  where  men  work  for  nothing  ?  Perhaps, 
when  men  are  young.  Not  a  country  where  elderly  men 
in  the  City  work  for  nothing.  Mr.  Cassilis  had  no  inten- 
tion whatever  of  devoting  his  time  and  experience  to  the 
furtherance  of  Mr.  Beck's  affairs.  Not  at  all :  if  the 
thoughts  in  his  mind  had  been  written  down,  they  would 
have  shown  a  joy  almost  boyish  in  the  success  of  his 
morning's  visit. 

"  The  Isle  of  Man  Company,"  we  should  have  read, 
"  is  floated.  That  ;^2o,ooo  was  a  lucky  coup.  I  nearly 
missed  my  chances  with  the  silver  mine  ;  I  ought  to  have 
known  that  he  was  not  likely  to  jump  at  such  a  bait.  A 
quarter  of  a  million  of  money  to  dispose  of,  and  five  hun- 
dred thousand  pounds  a  year.  And  mine  the  handling  of 
the  whole.  Never  before  was  such  a  chance  known  in  the 
City." 

A  thought  struck  him.  He  turned,  and  went  back 
hastily  to  Gilead  Beck's  rooms. 

"  One  word  more.  Mr.  Beck,  I  need  hardly  say  that 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  known  as  your  adviser  at  all.  Per- 
haps it  would  be  well  to  keep  our  engagements  a  secret 
between  ourselves." 

That  of  course  was  readily  promised. 

"  Half  a  million  a  year  !"  The  words  jangled  in  his 
brain  like  the  chimes  of  St.  Clement's.  "  Half  a  million  a 
year  !     And  mine  the  handling." 

He  spent  the  day  locked  up  in  his  inner  office.  He  saw 
no  one,  except  the  secretary,  and  he  covered  an  acre 
or  so  of  paper  with  calculations.  His  clerks  went  away  at 
five;  his  secretary  left  him  at  six;  at  ten  he  was  still  at 
work,  feverishly  at  work,  making  combinations  and  calcu- 
lating results. 

"  What  a  chance  !"  he  murmured  prayerfully,  putting 
down  his  pen  at  length.     "  What  a  blessed  chance  !" 

Mr.  Gilead  Beck  would  have  congratulated  himself  on 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  143 

the  disinterested  assistance  of  his  unprofessional  adviser 
had  he  known  that  the  whole  day  was  devoted  to  himself. 
He  might  have  congratulated  himself  less  had  he  known 
the  thoughts  that  filled  the  financier's  brains. 

Disinterested  ?  How  could  Mr.  Cassilis  regard  any  one 
with  money  in  his  hand  but  as  a  subject  for  his  skill.  And 
here  was  a  man  coming  to  him,  not  with  his  little  fortune 
of  a  few  thousand  pounds,  not  with  the  paltry  savings  of  a 
lifetime,  not  for  an  investmenffor  widows  and  orphans, 
but  with  a  purse  immeasurable  and  bottomless,  a  purse 
which  he  was  going  to  place  unreservedly  in  his  hands. 

"  Mine  the  handling,"  he  murmured  as  he  got  into  bed. 
It  was  his  evening  hymn  of  praise  and  joy. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

"  Higher  she  climbed,  and  far  below  her  stretch'd 
Hill  beyond  hill,  with  lightening  slopes  and  glades, 
And  a  world  widening  still." 

PHILLIS'S  world  widened  daily,  like  a  landscape, 
which  stretches  ever  farther  the  higher  you  mount. 
Every  morning  brought  her  fresh  delights,  something 
more  wonderful  than  she  had  seen  the  day  before.  Her 
portfolio  of  drawings  swelled  daily;  but  with  riches  came 
discontent,  because  the  range  of  subjects  grew  too  vast 
for  her  pencil  to  draw,  and  her  groups  became  every  day 
more  difficult  and  more  complicated.  Life  was  a  joy  be 
yond  all  that  she  had  ever  hoped  for  or  expected.  How 
should  it  be  otherwise  to  her  ?  She  had  no  anxieties  for 
the  future;  she  had  no  past  sins  to  repent;  she  had  no 
knowledge  of  evil;  she  was  young  and  in  perfect  health; 
the  weight  of  her  mortality  was  as  yet  unfelt. 

During  these  early  days  of  emancipation  she  was  mostly 
silent,  looking  about  and  making  observations.  She  sat 
alone  and  thought;  she  forgot  to  sing;  if  she  played,  it 
was  as  if  she  was  communing  confidentially  with  a  friend, 
and  seeking  counsel.     She  had  so  much  to  think  of  :  her- 


144  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

self,  and  the  new  current  of  thoughts  into  which  her  mind 
Uad  been  suddenly  diverted;  the  connection  between  the 
world  of  Mr.  Dyson's  teachings  and  the  world  of  reality — 
this  was  a  very  hard  thing;  Mrs,  Cassilis,  with  her  hard, 
Gold  manner,  her  kind  words,  and  her  eternal  teaching 
that  the  spring  of  feminine  action  is  the  desire  to  attract; 
finally,  Jack  Dunquerque.  And  of  him  she  thought  a  good 
deal. 

All  the  people  she  met  were  interesting.  She  tried  to 
give  each  one  his  own  individuality,  rounded  and  com- 
plete. But  she  could  not.  Her  experience  was  too  small, 
and  each  figure  in  her  mind  was  blurred.  Now,  if  you 
listen  to  the  conversation  of  people,  as  I  do  perpetually — 
in  trains  especially  — you  will  find  that  they  are  always 
talking  about  other  people.  The  reason  of  that  I  take  to 
be  the  natural  desire  to  have  in  your  brain  a  clear  idea  of 
every  man,  what  he  is,  and  how  he  is  likely  to  be  acted 
upon.  Those  people  are  called  interesting  who  are  the 
most  difficult  to  describe  or  imagine,  and  who,  perpetually 
breaking  out  in  new  places,  disturb  the  image  which  their 
friends  have  formed. 

None  of  Phillis's  new  friends  would  photograph  clear 
and  distinct  in  her  brain.  She  thought  she  missed  the 
focus.  It  was  not  so,  however ;  it  was  the  fault  of  the 
lens.  But  it  troubled  her,  because  if  she  tried  to  draw 
them  there  was  always  a  sense  of  something  wanting. 
Even  Jack  Dunquerque — and  here  her  eyes  brightened — 
had  points  about  him  which  she  could  not  understand. 
She  was  quiet,  therefore,  and  watched. 

It  was  pleasant  only  to  watch  and  observe.  She  had 
made  out  clearly  by  this  time  that  the  Twins  were  as  vain 
and  self-conscious  as  the  old  peacock  she  used  to  feed  at 
Highgate.  She  found  herself  bringing  out  their  little 
vanities  by  leading  questions.  She  knew  that  Joseph  Jag- 
enal,  whom  in  their  souls  the  Twins  despised,  was  worth 
them  both  ten  times  over  ;  and  she  found  that  Joseph 
rated  himself  far  beneath  his  brothers.     Then  she  grad- 


THE  GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  I45 

ually  learned  that  their  aesthetic  talk  was  soon  exhausted, 
but  that  they  loved  to  enunciate  the  same  old  maxims 
over  and  over  again,  as  children  repeat  a  story.  And  it 
became  one  of  her  chief  pleasures  to  listen  to  them  at 
dinner,  to  mark  their  shallowness,  and  to  amuse  herself 
with  their  foibles.  The  Twins  thought  the  young  lady 
was  fascinated  by  their  personal  excellences 

"  Genius,  brother  Cornelius,"  said  Humphrey,  "  always 
makes  its  way.  I  see  Phillis  Fleming  every  night  waiting 
upon  your  words." 

"  I  think  the  fascinations  of  Art  are  as  great,  brother 
Humphrey.  At  dinner  Phillis  Fleming  watches  your  every 
gesture." 

This  was  in  the  evening.  In  the  morning  every  walk 
was  a  new  delight  in  itself  ;  every  fresh  street  was  differ- 
ent. Brought  up  for  thirteen  years  within  the  same  four 
walls,  the  keenest  joy  which  the  girl  could  imagine  was 
variety.  She  loved  to  see  something  new,  even  a  new 
disposition  of  London  houses,  aevn  e  minute  difference  in 
the  aspect  of  a  London  square.  But  of  all  the  pleasures 
which  she  had  yet  experienced— even  a  greater  pleasure 
than  the  single  picture-gallery  which  she  had  visited — was 
the  one  afternoon  of  shopping  she  had  had  with  Mrs.  Cas- 
silis  at  Melton  and  Mowbray's  in  Regent  Street. 

Mrs.  Cassilis  took  her  there  first  on  the  morning  of  her 
dinner-party.  It  was  her  second  drive  through  the  streets 
of  London,  but  an  incomparable  superior  journey  to  the 
first.  The  thoroughfares  were  more  crowded  ;  the  shops 
were  grander ;  if  there  were  fewer  boys  running  and 
whistling,  there  were  picturesque  beggars,  Punch-and-Judy 
shows,  Italian  noblemen  with  organs,  and  the  other 
humours  and  diversions  of  the  great  main  arteries  of  Lon- 
don. Phillis  looked  at  all  with  the  keenest  delight,  calling 
the  attention  of  her  companion  to  the  common  things 
which  escape  our  notice  because  we  see  them  every  day — 
the  ragged  broken  down  old  man  without  a  hat,  who  has 
long  grey  locks,  who  sells  oranges  from  a  basket,  and  be- 


146  THE   COLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

trays  by  his  bibulous  trembling  lips  the  secret  history  of 
his  downfall  ;  the  omnibus  full  inside  and  out  ;  the  tall 
Guardsman  swaggering  down  the  street ;  the  ladies  look- 
ing in  at  the  windows  ;  the  endless  rows  of  that  great  and 
wonderful  exhibition  which  benevolent  tradesmen  show 
gratuitously  to  all  ;  the  shopman  rubbing  his  hands  at  the 
door  ;  the  foreigners  and  pilgrims  in  a  strange  land — he 
with  a  cigarette  in  his  mouth,  lately  from  the  Army  of 
Don  Carlos  ;  he  with  a  bad  cigar,  a  blue-black  shaven 
chin  and  cheek,  and  a  seedy  coat,  who  once  adorned  the 
ranks  of  Delescluze,  Ferre,  Flourens  &  Company  ;  he 
with  the  pale  face  and  hard  cynical  smile,  who  hails  from 
free  and  happy  Prussia  ;  the  man,  our  brother,  from  Sierra 
Leone,  coal-black  of  hue,  with  snowy  linen  and  a  convic- 
tion not  to  be  shaken  that  all  the  world  takes  him  for  an 
Englishman ;  the  booted  Belgian,  cross  between  the 
Dutchman  and  the  Gaul ;  the  young  gentleman  sent  from 
Japan  to  study  our  country  and  its  laws — he  has  a  cigar 
in  his  mouth,  and  a  young  lady  with  yellow  hair  upon  his 
arm  ;  the  Syrian,  with  a  red  cap  and  almond  eyes  ;  the 
Parsee,  wiih  lofty  superstructure,  a  reminiscence  of  the 
Tower  of  Babel,  which  his  ancestors  were  partly  instru- 
mental in  building  ;  Cretes,  Arabians  men  of  Cappadocia 
and  Pontus,  with  all  the  other  mingled  nationalities  which 
make  up  the  strollers  along  a  London  street, — Phillis 
marked  them  every  one,  and  only  longed  for  a  brief  ten 
minutes  with  each  in  order  to  transfer  his  likeness  to  her 
portfolio. 

"  Phillis,"  said  her  companion,  touching  her  hand,  "can 
you  practise  looking  at  people  without  turning  your  head 
or  seeming  to  notice  ? " 

Phillis  laughed,  and  tried  to  sit  in  the  attitude  of  un- 
observant carelessness  which  was  the  custom  in  other  car- 
riages. Like  all  first  attempts  it  was  a  failure.  Then  the 
great  and  crowded  street  reminded  her  of  her  dream. 
Should  she  presently — for  it  all  seemed  unreal  together — 
begin  to  run,  while  the  young  men,  among  whom  were 


HE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  147 

the  Twins,  ran  after  her  ?  And  should  she  at  the  finish 
of  the  race  see  the  form  of  dead  old  Abraham  Dyson, 
clapping  his  hands  and  wagging  his  head,  and  crying, 
"Well  run  !  well  won  !     Phillis,  it  is  the  Coping-stone  ?" 

"  This  is  Melton  &  Mowbray's,"  said  Mrs.  Cassilis,  as 
the  carriage  drew  up  in  front  of  a  shop  which  contained 
g^reater  treasures  then  were  ever  collected  for  the  harem 
of  an  Assyrian  king. 

She  followed  Mrs.  Cassilis  to  some  show  rooms,  in  which 
lay  about  carelessly  things  more  beautiful  than  she  had 
ever  conceived;  hues  more  brilliant,  textures  more  delicate 
then  she  ever  knew. 

Phillis's  first  shopping  was  an  event  to  be  remembered 
in  all  her  after  life.  What  she  chose,  what  Mrs.  (Cassilis 
chose  for  her,  what  Joseph  Jagenal  thought  when  the  bill 
came  in,  it  boots  not  here  to  tell.  Imagine  only  the  de- 
light of  a  girl  of  deep  and  artistic  feeling,  which  has  hith- 
erto chiefly  found  vent  in  the  study  of  form — such  form  as 
she  could  get  from  engravings  and  her  own  limited  pow- 
ers of  observation — in  being  let  loose  suddenly  in  a  wilder- 
ness of  beautiful  things.  Every  lady  knows  Messrs. 
Melton  &  Mowbray's  great  shop.  Does  anybody  ever 
think  what  it  would  seem  were  they  to  enter  it  for  the  first 
time  at  the  mature  age  of  nineteen  ? 

In  one  thing  only  did  Phillis  disgrace  herself.  There 
was  a  young  person  in  attendance  for  the  purpose  of 
showing  off  all  sorts  of  draperies  upon  her  own  back  and 
shoulders.  Phillis  watched  her  for  some  time.  She  had 
a  singularly  graceful  figure  and  a  patient  face,  which 
struck  Phillis  with  pity.  Mrs.  Cassilis  sat  studying  the 
effect  through  her  double  eye-glasses.  The  saleswoman 
put  on  and  took  off  the  things  as  if  the  girl  were  really  a 
lay-figure,  which  she  was,  excepting  that  she  turned  her- 
self about,  a  thing  not  yet  achieved  by  any  lay-figure.  A 
patient  face,  but  it  looked  pale  and  tired.  The  "  Duchess" 
— living  lay-figures  receive  that  title,  in  addition  to  a  whole 
pound  a  week   which  Messrs.  Melton  &  Mowbray  gener- 


148  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

ously  give  them — stood  about  the  rooms  all  day,  and  went 
to  bed  late  at  night.  Some  of  the  other  girls  envied  her. 
This  shows  that  there  is  no  position  in  life  which  has  not 
something  beneath  it. 

Presently  Phillis  rose  suddenly,  and  taking  the  opera- 
cloak  which  the  Duchess  was  about  to  put  on,  said  : 

'*  You  are  tired.  I  will  try  it  on  myself.  Pray  sit  down 
and  rest." 

And  she  actually  placed  a  chair  for  the  shop  girl. 

Mrs.  Cassilis  gave  a  little  jump  of  surprise.  It  had 
never  occurred  to  her  that  a  shopwoman  could  be  entitled 
to  any  consideration  at  all.  She  belonged  to  the  estab- 
lishment; the  shop  and  all  that  it  contained  were  at  the 
service  of  those  who  bought;  the  personnel  vidiS  a  matter 
for  Messrs.  Melton  &  Mowbray  to  manage. 

But  she  recovered  her  presence  of  mind  in  a  moment. 

*'  Perhaps  it  will  be  as  well,"  she  said,  *  to  see  how  it 
suits  you  by  trying  it  on  yourself." 

WheH  their  purchases  were  completed  and  they  were 
coming  away,  Phillis  turned  to  the  poor  Duchess,  and 
asked  her  if  she  was  not  very  tired  of  trying  on  dresses, 
and  whether  she  would  not  like  to  take  a  rest,  and  if  she 
was  happy,  with  one  or  two  other  questions;  at  which  the 
saleswoman  looked  a  little  indignant  and  the  Duchess  a 
little  inclined  to  cry. 

And  then  they  came  away. 

f<  It  is  not  usual,  Phillis,"  said  Mrs.  Cassilis,  directly 
they  were  in  the  carriage,  "  for  ladies  to  speak  to  shop- 
people." 

"  Is  it  not  ?    The  poor  girl  looked  pale  and  tired." 

"  Very  likely  she  was.  She  is  paid  to  work,  and  work 
is  fatiguing.  But  it  was  no  concern  of  ours.  You  see, 
my  dear,  we  cannot  alter  things;  and  if  you  once  com- 
mence to  pitying  people  and  talking  to  them,  there  is  an 
end  of  all  distinctions  of  class. 

"  Mr.  Dyson  used  to  say  that  the  difficulty  of  abolishing 
class  distinctions  was  one  of  the  most  lamentable  facts  in 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  I49 

human  history.  I  did  not  understand  then  what  he 
meant.  But  I  think  I  do  now.  It  is  a  dreadful  thing,  he 
meant,  that  one  cannot  speak  or  relieve  a  poor  girl  who  is 
ready  to  drop  with  fatigue,  because  she  is  a  shop-girl. 
How  sad  you  must  feel,  Mrs.  Cassilis,  you,  who  have  seen 
so  much  of  shop-assistants,  if  thev  are  all  like  that  poor 
girl !" 

Mrs.  Cassilis  had  not  felt  sad,  but  Phillis's  remark  made 
her  feel  for  the  moment  uncomfortable.  Her  complac- 
ency was  disturbed.  But  how  could  she  help  herself  ? 
She  was  what  her  surraundings  had  made  her.  As  riches 
increase,  particularly  the  riches  which  are  unaccompanied 
by  territorial  obligations,  men  and  women  separate  them- 
selves more  and  more;  the  lines  of  demarcation  become 
deeper  and  broader;  English  castes  are  divided  by  ditches 
constantly  widening;  the  circles  into  which  outsiders  may 
enter  as  guests,  but  not  as  members,  become  more  numer- 
ous; poor  people  herd  more  together;  rich  people  live 
more  apart;  the  latter  become  more  like  gods  in  their  se- 
clusion, and  they  grow  to  hate  more  and  more  the  sight 
and  rumor  of  suffering.  And  the  first  step  back  to  the 
unpitying  cruelty  of  the  old  civilizations  is  the  '  abit  of 
looking  on  the  unwashed  as  creatures  of  another  world. 
If  the  gods  of  Olympus  had  known  sympathy  they  might 
have  lived  till  now. 

This  expedition  occurred  on  the  day  of  Phillis's  first 
dinner-party,  and  on  their  way  home  a  singular  thing 
happened. 

Mrs.  Cassilis  asked  Phillis  how  long  she  was  to  stay 
with  Mr.  Jagenal. 

"  Until,"  said  Phillis,  "  my  guardian  comes  home  ;  and 
that  will  be  in  a  fortnight." 

"Your  guardian,  child  ?    But  he  is  dead." 

"  I  had  two,  you  know.  The  other  is  Mr.  Lawrence 
Colquhoun What  is  the  matter,  Mrs.  Cassilis  ?" 

For  she  became  suddenly  pallid,  and  stared  blankly  be- 
fore her,  with  no  expression  in  her  eyes,  unless  perhaps,  a 


150  THE  GOLDEN  BUTTERFLY. 

look  of  terror.  It  was  the  second  time  that  Phillis  had 
noted  a  change  in  this  cold  and  passionless  face.  Before, 
the  face  had  grown  suddenly  soft  and  tender  at  a  recol- 
lection ;  now,  it  was  white  and  rigid. 

"Lawrence  Colquhoun  !"  she  turned  to  Phillis,  and 
hardly  seemed  to  know  what  she  was  saying.  "  Lawrence 
Colquhoun  !  He  is  coming  home — and  he  promised  me 
— no — he  would  not  promise — and  what  will  he  say  to 
me. 

Then  she  recovered  herself  with  an  effort.  The  name, 
or  the  intelligence  of  Lawrence  Colquhoun's  return,  gave 
her  a  great  shock. 

"  Mr.  Colquhoun  your  guardian  !  I  did  not  know.  And 
is  he  coming  home  ?" 

"  You  will  come  and  see  me  when  I  am  staying — if  I 
am  to  stay — at  his  house  ?" 

"  I  shall  certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Cassilis,  setting  her  lips 
together — "  I  shall  certainly  make  a  point  of  seeing  Mr. 
Colquhoun  on  his  return,  whether  you  are  staying  with 
him  or  not.  Here  is  Carnarvon  Square.  No,  thank  you, 
I  will  not  get  down,  even  to  have  a  cup  of  tea  with  you. 
Good-bye,  Phillis,  till  this  evening.  My  dear,  I  think  the 
white  dress  that  you  showed  me  will  do  admirably. 
Home  at  once." 

A  woman  of  steel  ?  Rubbish  !  There  is  no  man  or 
woman  of  steel,  save  he  who  has  brooded  too  long  over 
his  own  perfections.  A  metallic  statue,  the  enemies  of 
Mrs.  Cassilis  called  her.  They  knew  nothing.  A  woman 
who  had  always  perfect  control  over  herself,  said  her  hus- 
band. He  knew  nothing.  A  woman  who  turned  pale  at 
the  mention  of  a  name,  and  longed,  yet  feared,  to  meet  a 
man,  thought  Phillis.  And  she  knew  something,  because 
she  knew  the  weak  point  in  this  woman's  armour.  Being 
neither  curious,  nor  malignant,  nor  a  disciple  in  the  school 
for  scandal,  Phillis  drew  her  little  conclusion,  kept  it  to 
herself,  and  thought  no  more  about  it. 

As  for  the  reasons  which  prompted  Mrs.  Cassilis  to 


THK    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  I5I 

"  take  up  "  Phillis  Fleming,  they  were  multiplex,  like  all 
the  springs  of  action  which  move  us  to  act.  She  wanted 
to  find  out  for  her  husband  of  what  sort  was  this  system 
of  education  which  Joseph  Jagenal  could  not  discovei 
anywhere.  She  was  interested  in,  although  not  attracted 
by,  the  character  of  the  girl,  unlike  any  she  had  ever 
seen.  And  she  wanted  to  use  Phillis — an  heiress,  young, 
beautiful,  piquante,  strange — as  an  attraction  to  her 
house.  For  Mrs.  Cassilis  was  ambitious.  She  wished  to 
attract  men  to  her  evenings.  She  pictured  herself — it  is 
the  dream  of  so  many  cultured  women — as  another 
Madame  Recamier,  Madame  du  Deffand,  or  Madame  de 
Rambouillet.  All  the  intellect  in  London  was  to  be 
gathered  in  her  salon.  She  caught  lions  ;  she  got  hold  of 
young  authors  ;  she  made  beginnings  with  third-rate  peo- 
ple who  had  written  books.  They  were  not  amusing ; 
they  were  not  witty  ;  they  were  devoured  by  envy  and 
hatred.  She  let  them  drop,  and  now  she  wanted  to  begin 
again.  An  idle  and  a  futile  game.  She  had  not  the  quick 
sympathies,  the  capacity  for  hero-worship,  the  lovableness 
of  the  Recamier.  She  had  no  tears  for  others.  She  did 
not  know  that  the  woman  who  aspires  to  lead  men  must 
first  be  able  to  be  led. 

There  was  another  fatal  objection,  not  fully  understood 
by  ladies  who  have  "  evenings  "  and  sigh  over  their  empty 
rooms.  In  these  days  of  clubs,  what  man  is  going  to  get 
up  after  dinner  and  find  his  melancholy  way  from  Pall 
Mall  to  Kensington  Palace  Gardens,  in  order  to  stand 
about  a  drawing-room  for  two  hours  and  listen  to  "gen- 
eral "  talk  ?  It  wants  a  Phillis,  and  a  personal,  if  hope- 
less, devotion  to  a  Phillis,  to  tear  the  freshest  lion  from 
his  club,  after  dinner,  even  if  it  be  to  an  altar  of  adulation. 
The  evening  begins  properly  with  dinner :  and  where 
men  dine  they  love  to  stay. 

"  Jack  Dunquerque  came  to  see  me  to  daj',"  Phillis  told 
Joseph.  "  You  remember  Mr.  Dunquerque.  He  was  at 
Mrs.  Cassilis's  last  night.     He  came  at  two,  to  have  lun- 


."52  THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

cheon  and  to  tell  me  about  Mr.  Colquhoun ;  but  he  did 
not  tell  me  anything  about  him.  We  talked  about  our- 
selves." 

"  Is  Mr.  Dunquerque  a  friend  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  Jack  and  I  are  friends,"  Phillis  replied  readily. 
There  was  not  the  least  intention  to  deceive  ;  but  Joseph 
was  deceived.  He  thought  they  had  been  old  friends. 
Somehov/,  perhaps,  Phillis  did  not  like  to  talk  very  much 
about  her  friendship  for  Jack. 

"  I  want  you  to  ask  him  to  dinner,  if  you  will." 

"  Certainly,  whenever  you  please.  I  shall  be  glad  to 
make  Mr.  Dunquerque's  acquaintance.  He  is  the  brother 
of  Lord  Isleworth,"  said  Joseph,  with  a  little  satisfac- 
tion at  seeing  a  live  member  of  the  aristocracy  at  his 
own  table. 

Jack  came  to  dinner.  He  behaved  extremely  well ; 
made  no  allusion  to  that  previous  occasion  when  he  had 
been  introduced  to  the  Twins  ;  listened  to  their  con- 
versation as  if  it  interested  him  above  all  things  ; 
and  not  once  called  Phillis  by  her  Christian  name. 
This  omission  made  her  reflect ;  they  were  therefore, 
it  was  apparent,  only  Jack  and  Phil  when  they  were 
alone.  It  was  her  first  secret,  and  the  possession  of  it  be- 
came a  joy. 

She  had  not  a  single  word  with  him  all  the  evening. 
Only  before  he  went  he  asked  her  if  he  might  call  the 
next  day  at  luncheon-time.     She  said  him  yea. 

"After  all  these  Bloomsbury  people,"  said  Cornelius, 
lighting  his  first  pipe,  "  it  does  one  good,  brother  Hum- 
phrey, to  come  across  a  gentleman.  Mr.  Ronald  Dun- 
querque took  the  keenest  interest  in  your  Art  criticisms  at 
dinner." 

"They  were  general  principles  only,  Cornelius,"  said 
Humphrey.  "  He  is  really  a  superior  young  man.  A 
little  modest  in  your  presence,  brother.  To  be  sure, 
it  is  not  every  day  that  he  finds  himself  dining  with  a 
Poet." 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  153 

"And  an  Artist,  Humphrey." 

"  Thank  you,  Cornelius.  Miss  Fleming  had  no  charms 
for  him,  I  think." 

"  Phillis  Fleming,  brother,  is  a  girl  who  is  drawn  more 
towards,  and  more  attracts,  men  of  a  maturer  age — men 
no  longer  perhaps  within  the  premiere  Jeunesse,  but  still 
capable  of  love." 

"  Men  of  our  age,  Cornelius.  Shall  we  split  this  pot- 
ash, or  will  you  take  some  ApoUinaris  water  ?" 

Jack  called,  and  they  took  luncheon  together  as  before. 
Phillis,  brighter  and  happier,  told  him  what  things  she 
had  seen  and  what  remarks  she  had  made  since  last  they 
met,  a  week  ago.  Then  she  told  him  of  the  things  she 
most  wished  to  see. 

"  Jack,"  she  said,  "  I  want  to  see  the  Tower  of  London 
and  Westminster  Abbey  most." 

"And  then,  Phil  ?" 

"  Then  I  should  like  to  see  a  play  " 

"Would  Mr.  Jagenal  allow  me  to  take  you  to  the 
Tower  of  London  ?     Now,  Phil — this  afternoon  ?" 

Phillis's  worldly  education  was  as  yet  so  incomplete  that 
she  clapped  her  hands  with  delight. 

"  Shall  we  go  now,  Jack  ?  How  delightful  !  Of  course 
Mr.  Jagenal  will  allow  me.  I  will  be  five  minutes  putting 
on  my  hat." 

"  Now,  that's  wrong  too,"  said  Jack  to  himself.  "  It  is 
as  wrong  as  calling  her  Phil.  It's  worse  than  wanting  to 
kiss  her,  because  the  kiss  never  came  off.  I  can't  help  it 
— it's  pleasant.  What  will  Colquhoun  say  when  he  comes 
home  ?  Phil  is  sure  to  tell  him  everything.  Jack  Dun- 
querque,  my  boy,  there  will  be  a  day  of  reckoning  for 
you.     Already,  Phil  ?     By  Jove  !  how  nice  you  look  !" 

"  Do  I,  Jack  ?  Do  you  like  my  hat  ?  I  bought  it  with 
Mrs.  Cassilis  the  other  day." 

"Look  at  yourself  in  the  glass,  Phil.  What  do  you 
see?" 


154  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

She  looked  and  laughed.  It  was  not  for  her  to  say 
what  she  saw. 

"  There  was  a  little  maid  of  Arcadia  once,  Phil,  and  she 
grew  up  so  beautiful  that  all  the  birds  fell  in  love  with 
her.  There  were  no  other  creatures  except  birds  to  fall 
in  love  with  her,  because  her  sheep  were  too  busy  fatten- 
ing themselves  for  the  Corinthian  cattle-market  to  pay  any 
attention  to  her.  They  were  conscientious  sheep,  you 
see,  and  wished  to  do  credit  to  the  Arcadian  pastures." 
Jack  Dunquerque  began  to  feel  great  freedom  in  the  alle- 
gorical method. 

"  Well,  Jack  ?  " 

"  Well  Phil,  the  birds  flew  about  in  the  woods,  singing 
to  each  other  how  lovely  she  was,  how  prettily  she  played, 
and  how  sweetly  she  sang.  Nobody  understood  what  they 
said,  but  it  pleased  this  little  maid.  Presently  she  grew  a 
tall  maid,  like  yourself,  Phil.  And  then  she  came  out  in- 
to the  world.  She  was  just  like  you,  Phil  ;  she  had  the 
same  bright  eyes,  and  the  same  laugh,  and  the  same  iden- 
tical sunlit  face  ;  and  O  Phil,  she  had  your  very  same 
charming  ways  !" 

"  Jack,  do  you  really  mean  it  ?  Do  you  like  my  face, 
and  are  my  ways  really  and  truly  not  rough  and  awk- 
ward ?" 

Jack  shook  his  head. 

"  Your  face  is  entrancing,  Phil  ;  and  your  ways  are 
more  charming  than  I  can  tell  you.  Well,  she  came  into 
the  world  and  looked  about  her.  It  was  a  pleasant  world, 
she  thought.  And  then — I  think  I  will  tell  you  the  rest 
of  the  story  another  time,  Phil. 

"  Jack,  did  other  people  besides  birds  love  your  maid  of 
Arcadia  ? " 

"  I'm  afraid  they  did,"  he  groaned.  "  A  good  many 
other  people — confound  them  !" 

Phil  looked  puzzled.  Why  did  he  groan  ?  Why  should 
not  all  the  world  love  the  Arcadian  maid  if  they  pleased  ? 

Then  they  went  out.  Jack  being  rather  silent. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  1 55 

"  This  is  a  great  deal  better  than  driving  with  Mrs. 
Cassilis,  Jack,"  said  the  girl,  as  she  made  her  first  acquain- 
tance with  a  hansom  cab.  "  It  is  like  sitting  in  a  chair, 
while  all  the  people  move  past.  Look  at  the  faces.  Jack  ; 
how  they  stare  straight  before  them  !  Is  work  so  dear 
to  them  that  they  cannot  find  time  to  look  at  each 
other. 

"  Work  is  not  dear  to  them  at  all,  I  think,"  said  Jack. 
"  It  I  were  a  clergyman  I  should  talk  nonsense  and  say 
that  it  is  the  race  for  gold.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  believe 
it  is  a  race  for  bread.  Those  hard  faces  have  got  wives 
and  children  at  home,  and  life  is  difficult,  that  is  all." 
Phillis  was  silent  agam. 

They  drove  through  the  crowded  City,  where  the  roll 
of  the  vehicles  thundered  on  the  girl's  astonished  ears, 
and  the  hard-faced  crowd  sped  swiftly  past  her.  Life  was 
too  multitudinous,  too  complex,  for  her  brain  to  take  it  in. 
The  shops  did  not  interest  her  now,  nor  the  press  of  busi- 
ness ;  it  was  the  never-ending  rush  of  the  anxious  crowd. 
She  tried  to  realise,  if  ever  so  faintly,  that  every  one  of 
their  faces  meant  a  distinct  and  important  personality. 
It  was  too  much  for  her,  and,  as  it  did  to  the  Persian 
monarch,  the  multitudes  brought  tears  into  her  eyes. 
"  Where  are  all  the  women  ?"  she  asked  Jack  at  length. 
"  At  home.  These  men  are  working  for  them.  They 
are  spending  the  money  which  their  husbands  and  fathers 
fight  for." 

She  was  silent  again. 

The  crowd  diminished,  but  not  much  ;  the  street  grew 
narrower.  Presently  they  came  to  an  open  space,  and  be- 
yond— oh,  joy  of  joys  ! — the  Tower  of  London,  which  she 
knew  from  the  pictures. 

Only  country  people  go  to  the  Tower  of  London.  It 
would  almost  seem  a  kindness  to  London  readers  were  I 
to  describe  this  national  gaudy-show.  But  it  is  better, 
perhaps,  that  its  splendours  should  remain  unknown,  like 
those  of  the  National  Gallery  and  the  British  Museum. 


156  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

The  solitudes  of  London  are  not  too  many,  and  its  con- 
venient trysting  places  are  few.  The  beef-eater  who  con- 
ducted the  flock  attached  himself  specially  to  Phillis, 
thereby  showing  that  good  taste  has  found  a  home  among 
beef-eaters.  Phillis  asked  him  a  thousand  questions.  She 
was  eager  to  see  everything.  She  begged  him  to  take 
them  slowly  down  the  long  line  of  armoured  warriors  ; 
she  did  not  care  for  the  arms,  except  for  such  as  she  had 
heard  about,  as  bows  and  arrows,  pikes,  battle-axes,  and 
spears.  She  lingered  in  the  room  where  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh  was  confined  ;  she  studied  the  construction  of  the 
headsman's  axe  and  the  block;  she  glowed  with  delight  at 
finding  herself  in  the  old  chapel  of  the  White  Tower.  Jack 
did  not  understand  her  enthusiasm.  It  was  his  own  first 
visit  also  to  the  Tower,  but  he  was  unaffected  by  its  his- 
torical associations.  Nor  did  he  greatly  care  for  the  arms 
and  armour. 

Think  of  Phillis.  Her  guardian's  favourite  lessons  to 
her  had  been  in  history.  He  would  read  her  passages  at 
which  her  pulse  would  quicken  and  her  eyes  light  up. 
Somehow  these  seemed  all  connected  with  the  Tower. 
She  constructed  an  imaginary  Tower  in  her  own  mind, 
and  peopled  it  with  the  ghosts  of  martyred  lords  and  suf- 
fering ladies.  But  the  palace  of  her  soul  was  as  nothing 
compared  with  the  grim  grey  fortress  that  she  saw.  The 
knights  of  her  imagination  were  poor  creatures  compared 
with  these  solid  heroes  of  steel  and  iron  on  their  wooden 
charges;  the  dungeon  in  which  Raleigh  pined  was  far 
more  gloomy  than  any  she  had  pictured;  the  ghosts  of 
slain  rebels  and  murdered  princes  gained  in  her  imagina- 
tion a  place  and  surroundings  worthy  of  their  haunts.  The 
first  sight  of  London  which  an  American  visits  is  the 
Tower;  the  first  place  which  the  boy  associates  with  the 
past,  and  longs  to  see,  is  that  old  pile  beside  the  Thames, 

Phillis  came  away  at  length,  with  a  sigh  of  infinite  satis- 
faction. On  the  way  home  she  said  nothing;  but  Jack 
saw,  by  her  absorbed  look,  that  the  girl  was  happy.     She 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  157 

was  adjusting,  bit  by  bit,  her  memories  and  her  fancies 
with  the  reality.  She  was  trying  to  fit  the  stories  her 
guardian  had  read  her  so  often  with  the  chambers  and  the 
courts  she  had  just  seen. 

Jack  watched  her  stealthily.  A  great  wave  of  passion 
roiled  over  the  heart  of  this  young  man  whenever  he 
looked  at  this  girl.  He  loved  her:  there  was  no  longer 
any  possible  doubt  of  that:  and  she  only  liked  him.  What 
a  difference  !  And  to  think  that  the  French  have  only 
one  word  for  both  emotions  !  She  liked  to  be  with  him, 
to  talk  to  him,  because  he  was  young  and  she  could  talk 
to  him.    But  love  ?    Cold  Dian  was  not  more  free  from  love. 

"  I  can  make  most  of  it  out,"  the  girl  said,  turning  to 
Jack.  "  All  except  Lady  Jane  Grey.  I  cannot  under- 
stand at  all  about  her.  You  must  take  me  again.  We 
will  get  that  dear  old  beef -eater  all  by  himself,  and  we  will 
spend  the  whole  day  there,  you  and  I  together,  shall  we 
not  ?" 

Then,  after  her  wont,  she  put  the  Tower  out  of  her 
mind  and  began  to  talk  about  what  she  saw.  They 
passed  a  printseller's.  She  wanted  to  look  at  a  picture 
in  the  window,  and  Jack  stopped  the  cab  and  took  her 
into  the  shop. 

He  observed,  not  without  dismay,  that  she  had  not  the 
most  rudimentary  ideas  on  the  subject  of  purchase.  She 
had  only  once  been  in  a  shop,  and  then,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  the  bill  was  sent  to  Mr.  Joseph  Jagenel.  Phillis 
turned  over  the  engravings  and  photographs,  and  selected 
half  a  dozen. 

Jack  paid  the  bill  next  day.  It  was  not  much  over  fif- 
teen pounds — a  mere  trifle  to  a  Younger  Son  with  four 
hundred  a  year.  And  then  he  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
the  warm  glow  of  pleasure  in  her  eyes  as  she  took  the 
"  Light  of  the  World  "  from  the  portfolio.  Pictures  were 
her  books,  and  she  took  them  home  to  read. 

At  last,  and  all  too  soon,  they  came  back  to  Carnarvon 
Square.  \ 


158  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"  Good-bye,  Phil,"  said  Jack,  before  he  knocked  at  the 
door.     "You  have  had  a  pleasant  day  ?" 

"Very  pleasant,  Jack;  and  all  through  you,"  she  re- 
plied. "  Oh,  what  a  good  thing  for  me  that  we  became 
friends  !" 

He  thought  it  might  in  the  end  be  a  bad  thing  for  him- 
self, but  he  did  not  say  so.  For  every  hour  plunged  the 
unhappy  young  man  deeper  in  the  ocean  of  love,  and  he 
grew  more  than  ever  conscious  that  the  part  he  at  present 
played  would  not  be  regarded  with  favour  by  her  guar- 
dian. 

"  Jack,"  she  said,  while  her  hand  rested  in  his,  and  her 
frank  eyes  looked  straight  in  his  face  with  an  expression 
in  which  there  was  no  love  at  all — he  saw  that  clearly — 
but  only  free  and  childlike  affection, — "  Jack — why  do 
you  look  at  me  so  sadly  ? — Jack,  if  I  were  like — if  I  were 
meant  for  that  maiden  of  Arcadia  you  told  me  of  " 

"  Yes,  Phil  ?" 

"  If  other  people  in  the  world  loved  me,  you  would  love 
me  a  little,  wouldn't  you  7" 

CHAPTER   XII. 

"  Hearken  what  the  inner  spirit  sings, 
•  There  is  no  Joy  but  calm.' 
Why  should  we  only  toil,  the  roof  and  crown  of  things  ?" 

LAWRENCE  COLQUHOUN  was  coming  home. 
Phillis,  counting  the  days,  remembered,  with  a  little 
prick  of  conscience,  that  Jack  Dunquerque  had  never 
told  her  a  single  word  concerning  her  second  guardian. 
He  was  about  forty  years  of  age,  as  old  as  Joseph  Jage 
nal.  She  pictured  a  grave  heavy  man,  with  massive  fore- 
head, thick  black  hair,  and  a  responsible  manner.  She 
knew  too  that  there  was  to  be  a  change  in  her  life,  but  of 
what  kind  she  could  not  tell.  The  present  mode  of  living 
was  happiness  enough  for  her  :  a  drive  with  Mrs.  Cassilis 
— odd  that  Phillis  could  never  remove  from  herself  the 
impression  that  Mrs.  Cassilis  disliked  her ;  a  walk  with 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  159 

Joseph  to  his  office  and  back  in  the  morning  ;  a  day  of 
occasional  delight  with  her  best  friend,  Jack  the  unscrup- 
ulous ;  her  drawing  for  amusement  and  occupation  ;  and 
a  widely  increased  area,  so  to  speak,  of  dress  discussion 
with  her  maid. 

Antoinette,  once  her  fellow-prisoner,  now  emancipated 
like  herself,  informed  her  young  mistress  that  should  the 
new  guardian  insist  on  a  return  to  captivity,  she,  Antoi- 
nette, would  immediately  resign.  Her  devotion  to  Phillis, 
she  explained,  was  unalterable;  but,  contrary  to  the  expe- 
rience of  the  bard,  stone  walls,  in  her  own  case,  did  make 
a  prison.  Was  Mademoiselle  going  to  resign  all  these 
pleasures  ? — she  pointed  to  the  evening-dresses,  the 
walking-dresses,  the  riding  habits — was  Mademoiselle 
about  to  give  up  taking  walks  when  and  where  she 
pleased  ?  was  Mademoiselle  ready  to  let  the  young  gentle- 
man. Monsieur  Dunquerque,  waste  his  life  In  regrets — 
and  he  so  brave,  so  good  ?  Antoinette,  it  may  be  ob- 
served, had,  in  the  agreeable  society  of  Jane  the  house- 
maid, Clarissa  the  cook,  and  Victoria  Pamela,  assistant  in 
either  department,  already  received  enlightenment  in  the 
usages  of  London  courtship.  She  herself,  a  little  flirt  with 
the  Norman  blue  eyes  and  light-brown  hair,  was  already 
the  object  of  a  devouring  passion  on  the  part  of  a  young 
gentleman  who  cut  other  gentlemen's  hair  in  a  neighbor- 
ing street.  Further,  did  Mademoiselle  reflect  on  the 
wickedness  of  burying  herself  and  her  beautiful  eyes  out 
of  everybody's  sight  ? 

A  change  was  inevitable.  Phillis  would  willingly  have 
stayed  on  at  Carnarvon  Square,  where  the  Twins  amused 
her,  and  the  lawyer  Joseph  was  kind  to  her.  But  Mrs. 
Cassilis  explained  that  this  was  impossible  ;  that  steps 
would  have  to  be  taken  with  regard  to  her  future  ;  and 
that  the  wishes  of  her  guardian  must  be  consulted  till  she 
was  of  age. 

"You  are  now  nineteen,  my  dear.  You  have  two  years 
to  wait.     Then  you  will  come  into  possession  of  your 


l6o  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

fortune,  and  you  will  be  your  own  mistress,  at  liberty  to 
live  where  and  how  you  please." 

Phillis  listened,  but  made  no  reply.  It  was  a  new 
thought  to  her  that  in  two  years  she  would  be  personally 
responsible  for  the  conduct  and  management  of  her  own 
life,  obliged  to  think  and  decide  for  herself,  and  under- 
taking all  the  responsibilities  and  consequences  of  her 
own  actions.  Then  she  remembered  Abraham  Dyson's 
warning  and  maxims.  They  once  fell  unheeded  on  her 
brain,  which  was  under  strict  ward  and  tutelage,  just  like 
exhortations  to  avoid  the  sins  of  the  world  on  the  ears  of 
convent  girls.     Now  she  remembered  them. 

"  Life  is  made  up  of  meeting  bills  drawn  on  the  future 
by  the  improvidence  of  youth." 

This  was  a  very  mysterious  maxim,  and  one  which  had 
often  puzzled  her.  Now  she  began  to  understand  what 
was  meant. 

"  The  consequences  of  our  own  actions  are  what  men 
call  fate.     They  accompany  us  like  our  shadows." 

Hitherto,  she  thought,  she  had  had  no  chance  of  per- 
forming any  action  of  her  own  at  all.  She  forgot  how 
she  asked  Jack  Dunquerque  to  luncheon  and  went  to  the 
Tower  with  him. 

"  Every  moment  of  a  working  life  may  be  a  decisive 
victory." 

That  would  begin  in  two  years'  time. 

"  Brave  men  act;  philosophers  discuss;  cowards  run  away. 
The  brave  are  often  killed:  the  talkers  are  always  left 
behind;  the  cowards  are  caught  and  cashiered." 

Better  to  act  and  be  killed  than  to  run  away  and  be  dis- 
graced, thought  Phillis.  That  was  a  thing  to  be  remem- 
bered in  two  years'  time. 

"  Women  see  things  through  the  haze  of  a  foolish  edu- 
cation. They  manage  their  affairs  badly  because  they  are 
unable  to  reason.  You,  Phillis,  who  have  never  learned  to 
read,  are  the  mistress  of  your  own  mind.     Keep  it  clear. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY  l6l 

Get  information  and  remember  it.  Learn  by  hearing  and 
watching." 

She  was  still  learning — learning  something  new  every 
day. 

**  It  is  not  in  my  power  to  complete  your  education, 
Phillis.  That  must  be  done  by  somebody  else.  When  it 
is  finished  you  will  understand  the  whole.  But  do  not  be 
in  a  hurry." 

When  would  the  finisher  of  her  education  come  ?  Was 
it  Lawrence  Colquhoun  ?  And  how  would  it  be  finished  ? 
Surely  some  time  in  the  next  two  years  would  complete 
the  edifice,  and  she  would  step  out  into  the  world  at  twenty- 
one,  her  own  mistress,  responsible  for  her  actions,  equipped 
at  at  all  points  to  meet  the  chances  and  dangers  of  her 
life. 

So  she  waited,  argued  with  herself,  and  counted  the 
days. 

Meantime  her  conduct  towards  the  Twins  inspired  these 
young  men  with  mingled  feelings  of  uncertainty  and 
pleasure.  She  made  their  breakfast,  was  considerate  in 
the  morning,  and  did  not  ask  them  to  talk.  When  the 
little  dialogue  mentioned  in  an  early  chapter  was  finished, 
she  would  herself  pick  out  a  flower — there  were  always 
flowers  on  the  table,  in  deference  to  their  artistic  tastes — 
or  their  buttonholes,  and  despatch  them  with  a  smile. 

That  was  very  satisfactory. 

At  dinner,  too,  she  would  turn  from  one  to  the  other 
while  they  discoursed  sublimely  on  Art  in  its  higher  as- 
pects. They  took  it  for  admiration.  It  was  in  reality 
curiosity  to  know  what  they  meant. 

After  dinner  she  would  too  often  confine  her  conversa- 
tion to  Joseph.  On  these  occasions  the  brethren  would 
moodily  disappear,  and  retire  to  their  own  den,  where 
they  lit  pipes  and  smoked  in  silence. 

In  point  of  fact  they  were  as  vain  as  a  brace  of  pea- 
cocks, and  as  jealous  as  a  domestic  pet,  if  attention  were 
shown  by  the  young  lady  to  any  but  themselves. 


I<52  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

Caesar,  it  may  be  observed,  quickly  learned  to  distin- 
guish between  the  habits  of  Phillis  and  those  of  his  mas- 
ters. He  never  now  offered  to  take  the  former  into  a 
public-house,  while  he  ostentatiusly,  so  to  speak,  paraded 
his  knowledge  of  the  adjacent  bars  when  conveying  the 
Twins. 

One  afternoon  Phillis  took  it  into  her  head  to  carry  up 
tea  to  the  Twins  herself. 

Cornelius  was,  as  usual,  sound  asleep  in  an  easy -chair, 
his  head  half  resting  upon  one  hand,  and  his  pale  cheek 
lit  up  with  a  sweet  and  childlike  smile — he  was  dreaming 
of  vintage  wines.  He  looked  sweetly  poetical,  and  it  was 
a  thousand  pities  that  his  nose  was  so  red.  On  the  table 
lay  his  blotting-pad,  and  on  it,  clean  and  spotless,  was  the 
book  destined  to  receive  his  epic  poem. 

Phillis  touched  the  Divine  Bard  lightly  on  the  shoulder. 

He  thought  it  was  Jane;  stretched,  yawned,  relapsed, 
and  then  awoke,  fretful,  like  a  child  of  five  months. 

"  Give  me  the  tea,"  he  grumbled.  "  Too  sweet  again,  I 
dare  say,  like  yesterday." 

"  No  sugar  at  all  in  it,  Mr.  Cornelius." 

He  sprang  into  consciousness  at  the  voice. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Fleming  !  Is  it  really  you  ?  You  have 
condescended  to  visit  the  Workshop,  and  you  find  the 
Laborer  asleep.  I  feel  Uke  a  sentinel  found  slumbering 
at  his  post.  Pray  do  not  think — it  is  an  accident  quite 
novel  to  me — the  exhaustion  of  continuous  effort,  I  sup- 
pose." 

She  looked  about  the  room. 

"  I  see  books;  I  see  a  table;  I  see  a  blotting-pad:  and  " 

She  actually,  to  the  Poet's  horror,  turned  over  the 

leaves  of  the  stitched  book,  with  Humphrey's  ornamental 
title-page.  "  Not  a  word  written.  Where  is  your  work, 
Mr.  Cornelius  ?" 

"  I  work  at  Poesy.  That  book.  Miss  Fleming,  is  for  the 
reception  of  my  great  epic  when  it  is  completed.  Non 
omnis  moriar.     There  will  be  found  in  that  blank  beok  the 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  163 

Structure  of  a  lifetime.     I  shall  live  by  a  single  work,  like 
Homer." 

"  What  is  it  all  about  ?"  asked  Phillis.  She  set  the  tea 
on  the  table  and  sat  down,  looking  up  at  the  Poet,  who 
rose  from  his  easy  chair  and  made  answer,  walking  up  and 
down  the  room  : 

"It  is  called  the  Upheaving  of  Alfred.  In  the  darkest 
moments  of  Alfred's  life,  while  he  is  hiding  amid  the 
Somersetshire  morasses,  comes  the  Spirit  of  his  Career, 
and  guides  him  in  a  vision,  step  by  step,  to  his  crowning 
triumphs.  Episodes  are  mtroduced.  That  of  the  swine- 
herd and  the  milkmaid  is  a  delicate  pastoral,  which  I  hope 
will  stand  side  by  side  with  the  Daphnis  and  Chloe. 
When  it  is  finished,  would  you  like  me  to  read  you  a  few 
cantos  ?" 

"  No  thank  you  very  much,"  said  Phillis.  "  I  think  I 
know  all  that  I  want  to  know  about  Alfred.  Disguised  as 
a  neatherd,  he  took  refuge  in  Athelney,  where  one  day, 
being  set  to  bake  some  cakes  by  the  woman  of  the  cottage, 
he  became  so  absorbed  in  his  own  meditations  that — ^I 
never  thought  it  a  very  interesting  story." 

"  The  loves  of  the  swineherd  and  the  milkmaid  " 

the  Poet  began. 

"  Yes,"  Phillis  interrupted,  unfeelingly.  "  But  I  hardly 
think  I  care  much  for  swineherds.  And  if  I  had  been 
Alfred  I  should  have  liked  the  stupid  story  about  the 
cakes  forgotten.  Can't  you  write  me  some  words  for 
music,  Mr.  Cornelius  ?  Do,  and  I  will  sing  them  to  some- 
thing or  other.  Or  write  some  verses  on  subjects  that 
people  care  to  hear  about,  as  Wordsworth  did.  My  guar- 
dian used  to  read  Wordsworth  to  me." 

"Wordsworth  could  not  write  a  real  epic,"  said 
Cornelius. 

"  Could  he  not  ?  Perhaps  he  preferred  writing  other 
things.  Now  I  must  carry  Mr.  Humphrey  his  tea.  Good- 
by,  Mr,  Cornelius  ;  and  do  not  go  to  sleep  again." 

Humphrey,  too,  was  asleep  on  his  sofa.     Raffaelle  him- 


164  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

self  could  not  have  seemed  a  more  ideal  painter.  The 
very  lights  of  the  afternoon  harmonised  with  the  purple 
hue  of  his  velvet  coat,  the  soft  brown  silkiness  of  his 
beard,  and  his  high  pale  forehead.  Like  his  brother, 
Humphrey  spoiled  the  artistic  eflfect  by  that  unlucky  red- 
ness of  the  nose. 

The  same  awakening  was  performed. 

"  I  have  just  found  your  brother,  said  Phillis,  "  at  work 
on  Poetry." 

"  Noble  fellow,  Cornelius ! "  murmured  the  Artist. 
"  Always  at  it.  Always  with  nose  to  the  grindstone.  He 
will  overdo  it  some  day." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Phillis,  with  a  gleam  in  her  eye.  "  I 
sincerely  hope  not.  Perhaps  he  is  stronger  than  he  looks. 
And  what  are  you  doing,  Mr.  Humphrey  7" 

*'  You  found  me  asleep.  The  bow  stretched  too  long 
must  snap  or  be  unbent." 

"Yes,"  said  Phillis  ;  "you  were  exhausted  with  work." 

"  My  great  picture — no,  it  is  not  on  the  canvas,"  for 
Phillis  was  looking  at  the  bare  easel. 

"  Where  is  it,  then  ?     Do  show  it  to  me." 

"  When  the  groups  are  complete  I  will  let  you  criticise 
them.  It  may  be  that  I  shall  learn  something  from  an 
artless  and  unconventional  nature  like  your  own." 

*' Thank  you,"  said  Phillis.  "That  is  a  compliment,  I 
am  sure.    What  is  the  subject  of  the  picture  ?" 

"  It  is  the  *  Birth  of  the  Renaissance.'  An  allegorical 
picture.  There  will  be  two  hundred  and  twenty-three 
figures  in  the  composition." 

"  The  '  Birth  of  the  Renaissance,'  "  Phillis  mused.  "  I 
think  I  know  all  about  that.  *  On  the  taking  of  Constan- 
tinople in  the  year  1433,  the  dispersed  Greeks  made  their 
way  to  the  kingdoms  of  the  West,  carrying  with  them 
Byzantine  learning  and  culture.  Italy  became  the  chosen 
home  of  these  exiles.  The  almost  simultaneous  inven- 
tion of  printing,  coupled  with  an  outburst  of  genius  in 
painting  and  poetry,  and  a   new-born  thirst  for  classical 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  165 

knowledge,  made  up  what  is  known  by  the  name  of  the 
Renaissance.'  That  is  what  my  guardian  told  me  one 
night.  I  think  that  I  do  not  want  to  see  any  picture  on 
that  subject.     Sit  down  now  and  draw  me  a  girl's  face." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Art  cannot  be  forced,"  he  replied. 

"  Mr.  Humphrey," — her  eyes  began  to  twinkle, — "  when 
you  have  time — I  should  not  like  to  force  your  Art,  but 
when  you  have  time — paint  me  a  little  group  ;  your- 
self, Mr.  Cornelius,  and  Caesar,  in  the  morning  walk. 
You  may  choose  for  the  moment  of  illustration  either 
your  going  into  or  coming  out  of  the  Carnarvon  Arms ; 
when  you  intend  to  have  or  when  you  have  had  your  little 
whack." 

She  laughed  and  ran  away. 

Humphrey  sat  upright,  and  gazed  at  the  door  through 
which  she  fled.  Then  he  looked  round  helplessly  for  his 
brother,  who  was  not  there. 

"  Little  whack  !  "  he  murmured.  "Where  did  she  learn 
the  phrase  ?  And  how  does  she  know  that — Cassar  could 
not  have  told  her." 

He  was  very  sad  all  the  evening,  and  opened  his  heart 
to  his  brother  when  they  sought  the  Studio  at  nine,  an 
hour  earlier  than  usual. 

*'  I  wish  she  had  not  come,"  he  said  ;  "  she  makes  un- 
pleasant remarks." 

"  She  does  ;  she  laughed  at  my  epic  to-day."  The 
Poet,  who  sat  in  a  dressing-gown,  drew  the  cord  tighter 
round  his  waist,  and  tossed  up  his  head  with  a  gesture  of 
indignation. 

"And  she  laughed  at  my  picture." 

"  She  is  dangerous,  Humphrey." 

"  She  watches  people  when  they  go  for  a  morning  walk, 
Cornelius,  and  makes  allusion  to  the  Carnarvon  Arms  and 
to  afternoon  naps." 

"  If,  Humphrey,  we  have  once  or  twice  been  obliged  to 
go  to  the  Carnarvon  Arms  " 


l66  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"  Or  have  been  surprised  into  an  afternoon  nap,  Cor- 
nelius " 

"  That  is  no  reason  why  we  should  be  ashamed  to  have 
the  subjects  mentioned.  I  rhould  hope  that  this  young 
lady  would  not  speak  of  Us — of  You,  brother  Humphrey, 
and  of  Myself — save  with  reverence." 

"  She  has  no  reverence,  brother  Cornelius." 

"Jane  certainly  tells  me,"  said  the  Poet,  "that  a 
short  time  ago  she  brought  Mr,  Ronald  Dunquerque, 
then  a  complete  stranger,  to  my  room,  when  I  hap- 
pened by  the  rarest  accident  to  be  asleep,  and  showed 
me  to  him." 

"  If  one  could  hope  that  she  was  actuated  only  by  re- 
spect !  But  no,  I  hardly  dare  to  think  that.  Then,  I  sup- 
pose, she  brought  her  visitor  to  the  Studio." 

"  Brother  Humprey,  we  always  do  the  same  thing  at  the 
same  time." 

"  Mutatis  mutandis,  my  dear  Cornelius.  I  design,  you 
write  ;  I  group,  you  clothe  your  conceptions  in  undying 
Words.  Perhaps  we  both  shall  live.  It  was  on  the  same 
day  that  she  drew  the  sketch  of  me  asleep."  Humphrey's 
mind  was  still  running  on  the  want  of  respect.  "  Here 
it  is." 

"  Forsitan  hoc  nomen  nostrum  miscebitur  Hits,"  resumed 
the  Poet,  looking  at  the  sketch.  "  The  child  has  a  wonder- 
ful gift  at  catching  a  likeness.  If  it  were  not  for  the 
annoyance  one  might  feel  pleased.  The  girl  is  young  and 
pretty.  If  our  years  are  double  what  they  should  be,  our 
hearts  are  half  our  years." 

"  They  are.    We  cannot  be  angry  with  her." 

"Impossible." 

"  Dear  little  Phillis  !" — she  was  a  good  inch  taller  than 
either  of  the  Twins,  who,  indeed,  were  exactly  the  same 
height,  and  it  was  five  feet  four — "  she  is  charming  in 
spite,  perhaps  on  account,  of  her  faults.  Her  property  is 
in  the  Funds,  you  said  Cornelius  ?" 

"Three-per-cents.      Fifty  thousand    pounds — fifteen 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  167 

hundred  a  year  ;  which   is  about   half  what  Joseph   pays 
income  tax  upon.    A  pleasant  income,  brother  Humphrey." 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say."  Humphrey  tossed  the  question  of 
money  aside.  "  You  and  I,  Cornelius,  are  among  the  few 
who  care  nothing  about  three-per-cents.  What  is  money 
to  us  .-*  what  have  we  to  do  with  incomes  ?  Art,  glorious 
Art,  brother,  is  our  mistress.  She  pays  us,  not  in  sordid 
gold,  but  in  smiles,  in  gleams  of  a  haven  not  to  be  reached 
by  the  common  herd,  in  skies  of  a  radiance  visible  only  to 
the  votary's  eye." 

Cornelius  sighed  response.  It  was  thus  that  the  broth- 
ers kept  up  the  sacred  flame  of  artistic  enthusiasm.  Pity 
that  they  were  compelled  to  spend  their  working  hours  in 
subjection  to  sleep,  instead  of  Art.  Our  actions  and  our 
principles  are  so  often  at  variance  that  their  case  is  not 
uncommon. 

Then  they  had  their  first  split  soda;  then  they  lit  their 
pipes;  for  it  was  ten  o'clock.  Phillis  was  gone  to  bed; 
Joseph  was  in  his  own  room;  the  fire  was  bright  and  the 
hearth  clean.  The  Twins  sat  at  opposite  sides,  with  the 
"  materials  "  on  a  chess-table  between  them,  and  prepared 
to  make  the  usual  night  of  it. 

"Cornelius,"  said  Humphrey,"  Joseph  is  greatly 
changed  since  she  came," 

The  Poet  sat  up  and  leaned  forward,  with  a  nod  signify- 
ing concurrence. 

"  He  is,  Humphrey;  now  you  mention  it,  he  is.  And 
you  think  " 

"  I  am  afraid,  Cornelius,  that  Joseph,  a  most  thoughtful 
man  in  general,  and  quite  awake  to  the  responsibilities  of 
his  position  " 

"It  is  not  every  younger  son,  brother  Humphrey,  who 
has  thought  of  changing  his  condition  in  life." 

Cornelius  turned  pale. 

"  He  has  her  to  breakfast  with  him;  she  walks  to  the 
office  with  him;  she  makes  him  talk  at  dinner*  Joseph 
never  used  to  talk  with  us.     He  sits  in  the  drawing-room 


l68  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

after  dinner.     He  used  to  go  straight  to  his  own  room." 

•'  This  is  grave,"  said  the  Poet.  *'  You  must  not,  my 
dear  Humphrey,  have  the  gorgeous  colouring  and  noble 
execution  of  your  groups  spoiled  by  the  sordid  cares  of 
life.  If  Joseph  marries,  you  and  I  would  be  thrown  upon 
the  streets,  so  to  speak.     What  is  two  hundred  a  year  ?" 

"  Nor  must  you,  my  dear  brother,  have  the  delicate 
fancies  of  your  brain  shaken  up  and  clouded  by  mean  and 
petty  anxieties." 

"  Humphrey,"  said  the  Poet,  "  come  to  me  in  half  an 
hour  in  the  Workshop.     This  is  a  time  for  action." 

It  was  only  half-past  ten,  and  the  night  was  but  just 
begun.  He  buttoned  his  dressing-gown  across  his  chest, 
tightened  the  cord,  and  strode  solemnly  out  of  the  room. 
The  Painter  heard  his  foot  descend  the  stairs. 

"  Excellent  Cornelius,"  he  murmured,  lighting  his  sec- 
ond pipe;  "he  lives  but  for  others." 

Joseph  was  sitting  as  usual  before  a  pile  of  papers.  It 
was  quite  true  that  Phillis  was  brightening  up  the  life  of 
this  hard-working  lawyer.  His  early  breakfast  was  a  time 
of  pleasure;  his  walk  to  the  office  was  not  a  solitary  one; 
he  looked  forward  to  dinner;  and  he  found  the  evenings 
tolerable.  Somehow,  Joseph  Jagenal  had  never  known 
any  of  the  little  agremens  of  life.  From  bed  to  desk,  from 
desk  to  bed,  save  when  a  dinner-party  became  a  necessity, 
had  been  his  life  from  the  day  his  articles  were  signed. 

"  You,  Cornelius  !"  He  looked  up  from  his  work,  and 
laid  down  his  pen.     "  This  is  unexpected." 

"I  am  glad  to  find  you,  as  usual,  at  work,  Joseph.  We 
are  a  hard-working  family.  You  with  law-books;  poor 
Humphrey,  and  I  with But  never  mind." 

He  sighed  and  sat  down. 

*•  Why  poor  Humphrey  ?" 

"  Joseph,  we  were  happy  before  this  young  lady  came." 

"  What  has  Phillis  done  ?  Why,  we  were  then  old 
fogies,  with  our  bachelor  ways;  and  she  has  roused  us  up 
a  little.     And  again,  why  poor  Humphrey  !" 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  1 69 

"  We  were   settled   down  in  a  quiet  stream  of  labour, 
thinking  that  there  would  be   no    change.     I   see  a  great 
change  coming  over  us  now." 
"  What  change  ?" 

"  Joseph,  if  it  were  not  for  Humphrey  I  should  rejoice. 
I  should  say,  *  Take  her;  be  happy  in  your  own  way.'  For 
uie,  I  only  sing  of  love.  I  might  perhaps  sing  as  well  in 
a  garret  and  on  a  crust  of  bread,  therefore  it  matters 
nothing.  It  is  for  Humphrey  that  I  feel.  How  can  that 
delicately-organised  creature,  to  whom  warmth,  comfort 
and  ease  are  as  necessary  as  sunshine  to  the  flower,  tace 
the  outer  world  ?  For  his  sake,  I  ask  you,  Joseph,  to  re- 
consider your  project,  and  pause  before  you  commit  your- 
self." 

Joseph  was  accustomed  to  this  kind  of  estimate  which 
one  Twin  invariably  made  of  the  other,  but  the  reason  for 
making  it  staggered  him.  He  actually  blushed.  Being 
forty  years  of  age,  a  bachelor,  and  a  lawyer — on  all  these 
grounds  presumably  acquainted  with  the  world  and  with 
the  sex — he  blushed  on  being  accused  of  nothing  more 
than  a  mere  tendency  in  the  direction  of  marriage." 

"This  is  the  strangest  whim!"  he  said.  "Why,  Cor- 
nelius, I  am  as  likely  to  marry  Phillis  Fleming  as  I  am  to 
send  Humphrey  into  the  cold,  Dismiss  the  thought  at 
once,  and  let  the  matter  be  mentioned  no  more.  Good- 
night, Cornelius." 

He  turned  to  his  papers  again  with  the  look  of  one  who 
wishes  to  be  alone.  These  Twins  were  a  great  pride  to 
him,  but  he  could  not  help  sometimes  feeling  the  slightest 
possible  annoyance  that  they  were  not  as  other  men.  Still 
they  were  his  charge,  and  in  their  future  glory  his  own 
name  would  play  an  honourable  part. 

"  Good-night,  Cornelius.  It  is  good  of  you  to  think  of 
Humphrey  first.  I  shall  not  marry — either  the  child 
Phillis  Fleming  or  any  other  woman." 

"  Good-night,  my  dear  Joseph.  You  have  relieved  my 
mind  of  a  great  anxiety.     Good-night." 


lyo  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

Five  minutes  afterwards  the  door  opened  again. 

Joseph  looked  around  impatiently. 

This  time  it  was  Humphrey.  The  light  shone  pictur- 
esquely on  his  great  brown  beard,  so  carefully  trimmed 
and  brushed;  on  the  velvet  jacket,  in  the  pockets  of  which 
were  his  hands;  and  en  his  soft,  large,  limpid  eyes,  so 
full  of  unutterable  artistic  perception,  such  lustrous  pas 
sion  for  colour  and  for  form. 

"  Well,  Humphrey !"  Joseph  exclaimed,  with  more 
sharpness  than  he  was  wont  to  display  to  his  brothers. 
"  Are  you  come  here  on  the  same  wise  errand  as  Cor- 
nelius ?" 

"  Has  Cornelius  been  with  you  ?"  asked  the  Painter  art- 
lessly. "  What  did  Cornelius  come  to  you  for  ?  Poor 
fellow  !  he  is  not  ill,  I  trust,  I  thought  he  took  very  little 
dinner  to-day." 

"  Tat,  tut  !     Don't  you  know  why  he  came  here  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,  brother  Joseph."  This  was  of  course 
strictly  true,  because  Cornelius  had  not  told  him.  Guesses 
are  not  evidence.  "  And  it  hardly  matters,  does  it  ?'*  he 
asked,  with  a  sweet  smile.  *'  For  myself,  I  come  because 
I  have  a  thing  to  say." 

"  Well  ?    Come,  Humphrey,  don't  beat  about  the  bush." 

"It is  about  Miss — Fleming." 

"Ah!" 

"  You  guess  already  what  I  have  to  say,  my  dear  Joseph. 
It  is  this  :  I  have  watched  the  birth  and  growth  of  your 
passion  for  this  young  lady.  In  some  respects  I  am  not 
surprised.  She  is  certainly  piquante  as  well  as  pretty. 
But,  my  dear  brother  Joseph,  there  is  Cornelius." 

Joseph  beat  the  tattoo  on  his  chair. 

"  Humphrey,"  he  groaned,  "  I  know  all  Cornelius's  vir- 
tues." 

"  But  not  the  fragile  nature  of  his  beautifully  subtle 
brain.  That,  Joseph,  I  alone  know.  I  tremble  to  think 
what  would  become  of  that — that  delicice  musurttm,  were 
he  to  be  deprived  of  the  little  luxuries  which  are  to  him 


XHE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  171 

necessities.     A  poet's  brain,  Joseph,  is  not  a  thing  to  be 
lightly  dealt  with." 

Joseph  was  touched  at  this  appeal. 

"  You  are  really,  Humphrey,  the  most  tender-hearted 
pair  of  creatures  I  ever  saw.  Would  that  all  the  world 
were  like  you  !  Take  my  assurance,  if  that  will  comfort 
you,  that  I  have  no  thought  whatever  of  marrying  Phillis 
Fleming." 

"Joseph,'* — Humphrey  grasped  his  hand, — "this  is,  in- 
deed, a  sacrifice," 

"  Not  at  all,*'  returned  Joseph  sharply.  "  Sacrifice  ? 
Nonsense.  And  please  remember,  Humphrey,  that  I  am 
acting  as  the  young  lady's  guardian;  that  she  is  an  heir- 
ess; that  she  is  intrusted  to  me;  and  that  it  would  be  an 
unworthy  breach  of  trust  if  I  were  even  to  think  of  such 
a  thing.  Besides  which,  I  have  a  letter  from  Mr,  Law- 
rence Colquhoun,  who  is  coming  home  immediately.  It 
is  not  at  all  likely  that  tha  young  lady  will  remain  longer 
under  my  charge.     Good-night,  Humphrey." 

"  I  had  a  thing  to  say  to  Joseph,"  said  Humphrey,  going 
up  to  the  Workshop,  "  and  I  said  it." 

"  I  too  had  a  thing  to  say,"  said  the  Poet,  "  and  I  said 
it." 

"  Cornelius,  you  are  the  most  unselfish  creature  in  the 
world." 

"  Humphrey,  you  are — I  have  always  maintained  it — 
too  thoughtful,  much  too  thoughtful,  for  others.  Joseph 
will  not  marry." 

"  I  know  it  ;  and  my  mind  is  relieved.  Brother,  shall 
we  split  another  soda  7    It  is  only  eleven." 

Joseph  took  up  his  paper.  He  neither  smoked  nor 
drank  brandy-and-soda,  finding  in  his  work  occupation 
which  left  him  no  time  for  either.  To-night,  however,  he 
could  not  bring  his  mind  to  baar  upon  the  words  before 
him. 

He  to  marry  ?     And  to  marry  Phillis  ?     The  thought 


172  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

was  new  and  startling.  He  put  it  from  him  ;  but  it  came 
back.  And  why  not?  he  asked  himself.  Why  should  not 
he,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  mankind,  have  his  share  of  love 
and  beauty  ?  To  be  sure,  it  would  be  a  breach  of  confi- 
dence as  he  told  Humphrey.  But  Colquhoun  was  com- 
ing •  he  was  a  young  man — his  own  age — only  forty  ;  he 
would  not  care  to  have  a  girl  to  look  after  ;  he  would — 
again  he  thought  behind  him. 

But  all  night  long  Joseph  Jagenal  dreamed  a  strange 
dream,  in  which  soft  voices  whispered  things  in  his  ears, 
and  he  thrilled  in  his  sleep  at  the  rustle  of  a  woman's 
dress.  He  could  not  see  her  face, — dreams  are  always  so 
absurdly  imperfect — but  he  recognised  her  figure,  and  it 
was  that  of  Phillis  Fleming. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
"  She  never  yet  was  foolish  that  was  fair." 

THE  days  sped  on;  but  each  day,  as  it  vanished,  made 
Phillis's  heart  sadder,  because  it  brought  her  guard- 
ian nearer,  and  the  second  great  change  in  her  life,  she 
thought,  was  inevitable.  Think  of  a  girl,  brought  up  a 
cloistered  nun,  finding  her  liberty  for  a  few  short  weeks, 
and  then  ordered  back  to  her  whitewashed  cell.  Phillis's 
feelings  as  regards  Lawrence  Colquhoun's  return  were 
coloured  by  this  fear.  It  seemed  as  if,  argument  and 
probability  notwithstanding,  she  might  be  suddenly  and 
peremptorily  carried  back  to  prison,  without  the  consola- 
tions of  a  maid,  because  Antoinette,  as  we  know,  would 
refuse  to  accompany  her,  or  the  kindly  society  of  the  poor 
old  Abraham  Dyson,  now  lying  in  a  synonymous  bosom. 

A  short  three  weeks  since  her  departure  from  Hig>.- 
gate  ;  a  short  six  weeks  since  Mr  Dyson's  death  ;  and  the 
world  was  all  so  different.  She  looked  back  on  herself, 
with  her  old  ideas,  contemptuously.  *'  Poor  Phillis  !"  she 
thought,  **  she  knew  so  little."  And  as  happens  to  every 
one  of  us,  in  every  successive  stage  of  life,  she  seemed  to 
herself  now  to  know  everything.     Life  without  the  sub- 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  173 

lime  conceit  of  being  uplifted,  by  reason  of  superior  in- 
ward light  and  greater  outward  experience,  above  other 
men,  would  be  but  a  poor  thing.  Phillis  thought  she  had 
the  Key  to  Universal  Knowledge,  and  that  she  was  on 
the  high-road  to  make  that  part  of  her  life  which  should 
begin  in  two  years'  time  easy,  happy,  and  clear  of  pitfalls. 
From  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  to  Joe  the  crossing- 
sweeper,  we  all  think  in  exactly  the  same  way.  And  when 
the  ages  bring  experience,  and  experience  does  not  blot 
out  memory,  we  recall  our  old  selves  with  a  kind  of 
shame — wonder  that  we  did  not  drop  into  the  snare,  and 
perish  miserably  ;  and  presently  fall  to  thanking  God  that 
we  are  rid  of  a  Fool. 

A  fortnight.  Phillis  counted  the  days,  and  drew  a  his- 
torical record  of  every  one.  Jack  came  three  times  :  once 
after  Mrs.  Cassilis's  dinner;  once  when  he  took  her  to  the 
Tower  of  London  ;  and  once — I  have  been  obliged  to 
omit  this  third  visit — when  he  sat  for  his  portrait, 
and  Phillis  drew  him  full  length,  leaning  against  the 
mantelshelf,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets — not  a  grace- 
ful attitude,  but  an  easy  one,  and  new  to  Phillis,  who 
thought  it  characteristic.  She  caught  Jack's  cheerful 
spirit  too,  and  fixed  it  by  a  touch  in  the  gleam  of  his  eye. 
Mrs.  Cassilis  came  four  times,  and  on  each  occasion  took 
the  girl  for  a  drive,  bought  something  for  her,  and  sent 
the  bill  to  Joseph  Jagenal.  On  each  occasion,  also,  she 
asked  particularly  for  Lawrence  Colquhoun.  There  were 
the  little  events  with  the  Twins  which  we  have  recorded  ; 
and  there  were  walks  with  Caesar  about  the  square.  Once 
Joseph  Jagenal  took  her  to  a  picture-gallery,  where  she 
wanted  to  stay  and  copy  everything;  it  was  her  first  intro- 
duction to  the  higher  Art,  and  she  was  half  delighted, 
half  confused.  If  Art  critics  were  not  such  humbugs,  and 
did  not  pretend  to  feel  what  they  do  not,  they  might  help 
the  world  to  a  better  understanding  of  the  glories  of 
painters.  As  it  is,  they  are  the  only  people,  except 
preachers,  to  whom  unreal  gush  is  allowed  by  gods  and 


174  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

men.  After  all,  as  no  Art  critic  of  the  modern  unintelli- 
gible gush-and-conceit  school  can  paint  or  draw,  perhaps 
if  they  were  not  to  gush  and  pile  up  Alpine  heaps  of 
words  they  would  be  found  out  for  shallow-bags.  The 
ideal  critic  in  Art  is  the  great  Master  who  sits  above  the 
fear  of  rivalry  or  the  imputation  of  envy  ;  in  Literature  it 
is  the  great  writer  from  whom  praise  is  honoured  and  dis- 
praise the  admonition  of  a  teacher  ;  in  the  Drama,  a  man 
who  himself  has  moved  the  House  with  his  words,  and  can 
afford  to  look  on  a  new  rising  playwright  with  kindliness. 

Phillis  in  the  Art  Gallery  was  the  next  best  critic  to  the 
calm  and  impartial  Master.  She  was  herself  artist  enough 
to  understand  the  difficulties  of  art  ;  she  had  that  intense 
and  real  feeling  for  form  and  colour  which  Humphrey 
Jagenal  affected  ;  and  her  taste  in  Art  was  good  enough 
to  overmaster  her  sympathy  with  the  subject.  Some  peo- 
ple are  ready  to  weep  at  a  tragical  subject,  however  coarse 
the  daub,  just  as  they  weep  at  the  fustian  of  an  Adelphi 
melodrama  ;  Phillis  was  ready  to  weep  when  the  treat- 
ment and  the  subject  together  were  worthy  of  her  tears. 
It  seems  as  if  she  must  have  had  her  nature  chilled  ;  but 
it  is  not  so. 

Time,  which  ought  to  be  represented  as  a  locomotive 
engine,  moved  on,  and  brought  Lawrence  Colquhoun  at 
length  to  London.  He  went  first  to  Joseph  Jagenal's 
office,  and  heard  that  his  ward  was  in  safe-keeping  with 
that  very  safe  solicitor. 

"  It  was  difficult,"  Joseph  explained,  "  to  know  what  to 
do.  After  the  funeral  of  Mr,  Dyson  she  was  left  alone  in 
the  place,  with  no  more  responsible  person  than  a  house- 
keeper. So,  as  soon  as  the  arrangement  could  be  made, 
I  brought  her  to  my  own  house.  Three  old  bachelors 
might  safely,  I  thought,  be  trusted  with  the  protection  of 
a  young  lady." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Colquhoun.  "  You 
have  removed  a  great  weight  off  my  mind.  What  sort  of 
a  girl  is  she  ? " 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  I75 

Joseph  began  to  describe  her.  As  he  proceeded  he 
warmed  with  his  subject,  and  delineated  a  young  lady  of 
such  passing  charms  of  person  and  mind  that  Colquhoun 
was  terrified. 

"  My  dear  Jagenal,  if  you  were  not  such  a  steady  old 
file  I  should  think  you  were  in  love  with  her." 

"  My  love  days  are  over,"  said  the  man  of  conveyances. 
"  That  is,  I  never  had  any.  But  you  will  find  Phillis 
Fleming  everything  that  you  can  desire.  Except,  of 
course,"  he  added,  "  in  respect  to  her  education.  It  cer- 
tainly is  awkward  that  she  does  not  know  how  to  read." 

"  Not  know  how  to  read  ? " 

"And  so,  you  see,"  said  the  lawyer,  completing  the  story 
we  know  already,  *•  Mr.  Dyson's  property  will  go  into 
Chancery,  because  Phillis  Fleming  has  never  learnt  to 
read,  and  because  we  cannot  find  that  chapter  on  the 
Coping-stone." 

"  Hang  the  Coping-stone  !  "  ejaculated  Colquhoun.  "  I 
think  I  will  go  and  see  her  at  once.  Will  you  let  me  dine 
with  you  to-night  ?  And  will  you  add  to  my  obligations 
by  letting  her  stay  on  with  you  till  I  can  arrange  some- 
thing for  her  ?" 

"  What  do  you  think  of  doing  !" 

"  I  hardly  know.  I  thought  on  the  voyage,  that  I  would 
do  something  in  the  very-superior-lady-companion  way 
for  her.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  thought  it  was  a  considerable 
bore — the  whole  thing.  But  she  seems  very  different  from 
what  I  expected,  and  perhaps  I  could  ask  my  cousin,  Mrs. 
L'Estrange,  to  take  her  into  her  own  house  for  a  time.  Poor 
old  Dyson  !  It  is  twelve  years  ago  since  I  saw  him  last, 
soon  after  he  took  over  the  child.  I  remember  her  then, 
a  solemn  little  thing,  with  big  eyes,  who  behaved  prettily. 
She  held  up  her  mouth  to  be  kissed  when  she  went  to  bed, 
but  I  suppose  she  won't  do  that  know." 

"  You  can  hardly  expect  it,  I  think,"  said  Joseph. 

"  Abraham  Dyson  talked  all  the  evening  about  his  grand 


176  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

principles  of  Female  education.  I  was  not  interested,  ex- 
cept that  I  felt  sorry  for  the  poor  child  who  was  to  be  an 
experiment.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  interfered  as  one  of 
her  trustees.  I  left  the  whole  thing  to  him,  you  see,  and 
did  no  even  inquire  after  her  welfare." 

"  You  two  were,  by  some  curious  error  of  judgment,  as 
I  take  it.  left  discretionary  trustees.  As  he  is  dead,  you 
have  now  the  care  of  Miss  Fleming's  fifty  thousand 
pounds.  Mr.  Dyson  left  it  in  the  funds,  where  he  found 
it.  As  your  legal  adviser,  Mr.  Colquhoun,  I  strongly 
recommend  you  to  do  the  same.  She  will  be  entitled  to 
the  control  and  management  of  it  on  coming  of  age,  but  it 
is  to  be  settled  on  herself  when  she  marries.  There  is  no 
stipulation  as  to  trustees'  consent.  So  that  you  only  have 
the  responsibility  of  the  young  lady  and  her  fortune  for 
two  years." 

"  It  was  twelve  o'clock  in  the  day.  Colquhoun  left  the 
office,  and  made  his  way  in  the  direction  of  Carnarvon 
Square. 

As  he  ascended  the  steps  of  Number  Fifteen,  the  door 
opened  and  two  young  men  appeared.  One  was  dressed 
in  a  short  frock,  with  a  flower  in  his  buttonhole:  the  other 
had  on  a  velvet  coat,  and  also  had  a  flower;  one  was 
shaven;  the  other  wore  along  and  silky  beard.  Both  had 
pale  faces  and  red  noses.  As  they  looked  at  the  stranger 
and  passed  him  down  the  steps,  Colquhoun  saw  that  they 
were  not  so  young  and  beautiful  as  they  seemed  to  be  : 
there  were  crowsfeet  round  the  eyes,  and  their  step  had 
lost  a  little  of  its  youthful  buoyancy.  He  wondered  who 
they  were,  and  sent  in  his  card  to  Miss  Fleming. 

He  was  come,  then,  this  new  guardian.  Phillis  could 
not  read  the  card,  but  Jane,  the  maid,  told  her  his  name. 

He  was  come;  and  the  second  revolution  was  about  to 
begin. 

Instinctively  Phillis's  first  thought  was  that  there  would 
be  no  more  walks  with  Jack  Dunquerque.  Why  she  felt 
so  it  would  be  hard  to  explain,  but  she  did. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  I77 

She  Stood  up  to  welcome  him. 

She  saw  a  handsome  young-looking  man,  with  blue 
eyes,  clear  red  and  white  complexion,  regular  features,  a 
brown  beard,  and  a  curious  look  of  laziness  in  his  eyes. 
They  were  eyes  which  showed  a  repressed  power  of  ani- 
mation.    They  lit  up  at  sight  of  his  ward,  but  not  much. 

He  saw  a  girl  of  nineteen,  tall,  slight,  shapely;  a  girl  of 
fine  physique;  a  girl  whose  eyes,  like  her  hair,  were 
brown;  the  former  were  large  and  full,  but  not  with  the 
fulness  of  short-sight;  the  latter  was  abundant,  and  was 
tossed  up  in  the  simplest  fashion,  which  is  also  the  most 
graceful.  Lawrence  the  lazy  felt  his  pulse  quicken  a  little 
as  this  fair  creature  advanced,  with  perfect  grace  and  self- 
possession,  to  greet  him.  He  noticed  that  her  dress  was 
perfect,  that  her  hands  were  small  and  delicate,  and  that 
her  head  was  shaped,  save  for  the  forehead,  which  was 
low  and  broad,  like  that  of  some  Greek  statue.  The 
Greeks  knew  the  perfect  shape  of  the  head,  but  they  made 
the  forehead  too  narrow.  If  you  think  of  it,  you  will  find 
that  the  Venus  of  Milo  would  have  been  more  divine  still 
had  her  brows  been  but  a  little  broader. 

*'  My  ward  ?"  he  said.  "  Let  us  make  acquaintance,  and 
try  to  like  each  other.     I  am  your  new  guardian." 

Phillis  looked  at  him  frankly  and  curiously,  letting  her 
hand  rest  in  his. 

"  When  I  saw  you  last — it  was  twelve  years  ago — you 
were  a  little  maid  of  seven.     Do  you  remember  ?" 

"  I  think  I  do;  but  I  am  not  quite  sure.  Are  you  really 
my  guardian  ?" 

"  I  am  indeed.  Do  I  not  look  like  one  ?  To  be  sure, 
it  is  my  first  appearance  in  the  character. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Mr.  Dyson  was  so  old,"  she  said,  "  that  I  suppose  I 
grew  to  think  all  guardians  old  men." 

"  I  am  only  getting  old,"  he  sighed.  "  It  is  not  nice  to 
feel  yourself  going  to  get  old.  Wait  twenty  years,  and 
you  will  begin  to  feel  the  same  perhaps.     But  though  I  am 


178  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

thirty  years  younger  than  Mr.  Dyson,  I  will  try  to  treat 
you  exactly  as  he  did." 

Phillis's  face  fell,  and  she  drew  away  her  hand  sharply. 

"  Oh  !"  she  cried.  "  But  I  am  afraid  that  will  not  do 
any  more." 

"Why,  Phillis — I  may  call  you  Phillis  since  I  am  your 
guardian,  may  I  not  ? — did  he  treat  you  badly  ?  Why  did 
you  not  write  to  me  ?" 

**  I  did  not  write,  Mr.  Colquhoun — if  you  call  me  Phillis, 
I  ought  to  call  you  Lawrence,  ought  I  not,  because  you 
are  not  old  ? — I  did  not  write,  because  dear  old  Mr.  Dyson 
treated  me  very  kindly,  and  because  you  were  away  and 
never  came  to  see  me,  and  because  I — I  never  learned  to 
write." 

By  this  time  Phillis  had  learned  to  feel  a  little  shame  at 
not  being  able  to  write. 

"  Besides,"  she  went  on,  "  he  was  a  dear  old  man,  and  I 
loved  him.  But  you  see,  Lawrence,  he  had  his  views — 
Jagenal  calls  them  crochets — and  he  never  let  me  go  out- 
side the  house.  Now  I  am  free  I  do  not  like  to  think  of 
being  a  prisoner  again.  If  you  try  to  lock  me  up,  I  am 
afraid  I  shall  break  the  bars  and  run  away." 

"  You  shall  not  be  a  prisoner,  Phillis.  That  is  quite  cer- 
tain. We  shall  jRnd  something  better  than  that  for  you. 
But  it  cannot  be  very  lively,  in  this  big  house,  all  by 
yourself." 

"  Not  very  lively  ;  but  I  am  quite  happy  here." 

•*  Most  young  ladies  read  novels  to  pass  away  the  time." 

"I  know,  poor  things."  Phillis  looked  unutterable 
sympathy.  *'  Mr.  Dyson  used  to  say  that  the  sympathies 
which  could  not  be  quickened  by  history  were  so  dull  that 
fiction  was  thrown  away  upon  them." 

"  Did  you  never — I  mean,  did  he  never  read  you 
novels  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  He  said  that  my  imagination  was  quite  powerful 
enough  to  be  a  good  servant,  and   he  did  not  wish  it  to 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  179 

become  my  master.  And  then  there  was  something  else, 
about  wanting  the  experience  of  life  necessary  to  appreci- 
ate fiction." 

"Abraham  Dyson  was  a  wise  man,  Phillis.  But  what  do 
you  do  all  day  ?" 

"  I  draw  ;  I  talk  to   my  maid,  Antoinette  ;  I  give  the 

Twins  their  breakfast  " 

"  Those  were  the  Twins — Mr.  Jagenal's  elder  brothers 
— whom  I  met  on  the  steps,  I  suppose  ?  I  have  heard  of 
them.    Apres,  Phillis  ? " 

"  I  play  and  sing  to  myself ;  I  go  out  for  a  walk  in  the 
garden  of  the  square  ;  I  go  to  Mr.  Jagenal's  office,  and 
walk  home  with  him ;  and  I  look  after  my  wardrobe. 
Then  I  sit  and  think  of  what  I  have  seen  and  heard — 
put  it  all  away  in  my  memory,  or  I  repeat  to  my 
self  over  again  some  of  the  poetry  which  I  learned 
at  High  gate." 

"And  you  know  no  young  ladies  ?" 
"  No  ;  I  wish  I   did.     I   am  curious  to  talk  to  young 
ladies — quite  young  ladies,  you  know,  of  my  own  age.     I 
want  to  compare  myself  with  them,  and  find  out  my  faults. 
You  will  tell  me  my  faults,  Lawrence,  will  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  quite  think  I  can  promise  that,  Phillis.  You 
see,  you  might  retaliate  ;  and  if  you  onee  begin  telling  me 
my  faults,  there  would  be  no  end." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sorry  !"  Phillis  looked  curiously  at  her  guar- 
dian for  some  outward  sign  or  token  of  the  old  Adam. 
But  she  saw  none.  "  Perhaps  I  shall  find  them  out  some 
time,  and  then  I  will  tell  you." 

"  Heaven  forbid  !"  he  said,  laughing.  "  Now,  Phillis,  I 
have  been  asked  to  dine  here,  and  I  am  going  to  be  at 
your  service  all  day.  It  is  only  one  o'clock.  What  shall 
we  do,  and  where  shall  go  ?" 

"Anywhere,"  she  replied,  "  anywhere.  Take  me  into 
the  crowded  streets,  and  let  me  look  at  the  people  and 
the  shops.  I  like  that  best  of  anything.  But  stay  and 
have  luncheon  here  first." 


l8o  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

They  had  luncheon.  Colquhoun  confessed  to  himself 
that  this  was  a  young  lady  calculated  to  do  him 
the  greatest  credit.  She  acted  hostess  with  a  certain 
dignity  which  sat  curiously  on  so  young  a  girl,  and 
which  she  had  learned  from  presiding  at  many  a  lun- 
cheon in  Mr.  Dyson's  old  age  among  his  old  friends, 
when  her  guardian  had  become  too  infirm  to  take  the 
head  of  his  own  table.  There  was,  it  is  true,  something 
wanting.  Colquhoun's  practised  eye  detected  that  at 
once.  Phillis  was  easy,  graceful,  and  natural.  But  she  had 
not — the  man  of  the  world  noticed  what  Jack  Dunquerque 
failed  to  observe — she  had  not  the  unmistakable  stamp  of 
social  tone  which  can  only  come  by  practice  and  time. 
The  elements,  however,  were  there  before  him;  his  ward 
was  a  diamond  which  wanted  but  a  little  polish  to  make 
her  a  gem  of  the  first  water. 

After  luncheon  they  talked  again;  this  time  with  a  little 
more  freedom.  Colquhoun  told  her  all  he  knew  of  the 
father  who  was  but  a  dim  and  distant  memory  to  her. 
"  You  have  his  eyes,"  he  said,  •'  and  you  have  his  mouth. 
I  should  know  you  for  his  daughter."  He  told  her  how 
fond  this  straight  rider,  this  Nimrod  of  the  hunting-field, 
had  been  of  his  little  Phillis  !  how  one  evening  after  mess 
he  told  Colquhoun  that  he  had  made  a  will,  and  appointed 
him,  Lawrence,  with  Abraham  Dyson,  the  trustees  of  his 
little  girl. 

"  I  have  been  a  poor  trustee,  Phillis,"  Lawrence  con- 
cluded. "  But  I  was  certain  you  were  in  good  hands,  and 
I  let  things  alone.  Now  that  I  have  to  act  in  earnest,  you 
must  regard  me  as  your  friend  and  adviser." 

They  had  such  a  long  talk  that  it  was  past  four  when 
they  went  out  for  their  walk.  Phillis  was  thoughtful  and 
Serious,  thinking  of  the  father,  whom  she  lost  so  early. 
Somehow  she  had  forgotten,  at  Highgate,  that  she  once 
had  a  father.    And  the  word  mother  had  no  meaning  for  her 

Outside  the  house  Lawrence  looked  at  his  companion 
critically. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  l8l 

"  Am  I  poorly  dressed  ?'  she  asked,  with  a  smile,  be- 
cause she  knew  that  she  was  perfectly  dressed 

At  all  events,  Lawrence  thought  he  would  have  no  oc- 
casion to  be  ashamed  of  his  companion 

"  Let  me  look  again,  Phillis.  I  should  like  to  give  you 
a  little  better  brooch  than  the  one  you  have  put  on." 

"  My  poor  old  brooch  !  I  cannot  give  up  my  old  friend, 
Lawrence." 

She  dropped  quite  easily  into  his  Christian  name,  and 
hesitated  no  more  over  it  than  she  did  with  Jack  Dun- 
querque. 

He  took  her  into  a  jeweller's  shop  and  bought  her  a  few 
trinkets. 

"  There,  Phillis,  you  can  add  those  to  your  jewel- 
box." 

"  I  have  no  jewels. 

"  No  jewels  !     Where  are  your  mother's  ?" 
"  I  believe  they  are  all  in  the  Bank,  locked  up.  Perhaps 
they  are  with  my  money." 

Phillis's  idea  of  her  fifty  thousand  pounds  was  that  the 
money  was  all  in  sovereigns,  packed  away  in  a  box  and 
put  into  a  bank. 

"  Well,  I  think  you  ought  to   have  your  jewels  out,  at 
any  rate.     Did  Mr.  Dyson  give  you  any  money  to  spend  ?' 
"No;  and  if   he  had    I  could  not  spend  it,  because  I 
never  went  outside  the  house.     Lawrence,  give  me  some 
money,  and  let  me  buy  something  all  by  myself." 

He  bought  her  a  purse,  and  filled  it  with  two  or  three 
sovereigns  and  a  handful  of  silver. 

"  Now  you  are  rich,  Phillis.     What  will  you  buy  ?" 
"  Pictures,  I  think." 

In  all  this  great  exhibition  of  glorious  and  beautiful  ob- 
jects there  was  only  one  thing  which  Phillis  wished  to  buy 
— pictures. 

"  Well,  let  us  buy  some  photographs," 
They  were  walking  down  Oxford  Street,  and  presently 
they  came  to  a  photograph   shop.     Proud  of  her  newly- 


l82  THE    COLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

acquired  wealth,  Phillis  selected  about  twenty  of  the  larg- 
est and  most  expensive.  Colquhoun  observed  that  her 
taste  was  good,  and  that  she  chose  the  best  subjects. 
When  she  had  all  that  she  liked,  together  with  one  or  two 
which  she  bought  for  Jack,  with  a  secret  joy  surpassing 
that  of  buying  for  herself,  she  opened  her  purse  and  began 
to  wonder  how  she  was  to  pay. 

"  Do  you  think  your  slender  purse  will  buy  all  these 
views  ?"  Colquhoun  asked.  "  Put  it  up,  Phillis,  and  keep 
it  for  another  time.     Let  me  give  you  these  photographs." 

"  But  you  said  I  should  buy  something."  Her  words 
and  action  were  so  childish  that  Lawrence  felt  a  sort  of 
pity  for  her.  Not  to  know  how  to  spend  money  seemed 
to  lazy  Lawrence,  who  had  done  nothing  else  all  his  life,  a 
state  of  mind  really  deplorable.  It  would  mean  in  his 
own  case  absolute  deprivation  of  the  power  of  procuring 
pleasure,  either  for  himself  or  for  any  one  else. 

"  Poor  little  nun  !  Not  to  know  even  the  value  of 
money." 

"  But  I  do.  A  sovereign  is  twenty  shillings,  and  a  shil- 
ling is  twelve  pence." 

"  That  is  certainly  true.  Now  you  shall  know  the  value 
of  money.  There  is  a  beggar.  He  is  going  to  tell  us 
that  he  is  hungry  ;  he  will  probably  add  that  he  has  a  wife 
and  twelve  children,  all  under  the  age  of  three,  in  his 
humble  home,  and  that  none  of  them  have  tasted  food  for 
a  week.     What  will  you  give  him  ?" 

Phillis  paused.  How  should  she  relieve  so  much  dis- 
tress ?  By  this  time  they  were  close  to  the  beggar.  He 
was  a  picturesqe  rogue  in  rags  and  tatters  and  bare  feet. 
Though  it  was  a  warm  day  he  shivered.  In  his  hand  he 
held  a  single  box  of  lights.  But  the  fellow  was  young, 
well  fed,  and  lusty.  Lawrence  Colquhoun  halted  on  the 
pavement,  and  looked  at  him  attentively. 

"  This  man,"  he  explained  to  Phillis,  can  get  for  a  penny 
a  small  loaf  ;  twopence  will  buy  him  a  glass  of  ale  ;  six- 
pence a  dinner  ,  for  ten  shillings   he  could  get  a  suit  of 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  183 

working  clothes — which  he  does  not  want  because  he  has 
no  intention  of  doing  any  work  at  all  ;  a  sovereign  would 
lodge  and  feed  him  for  a  fortnight,  if  he  did  not  drink." 

*'  I  should  give  him  a  sovereign,"  said  Phillis.  "  Then  he 
would  be  happy  for  a  week." 

"Bless  your  ladyship,"  murmured  the  beggar.  "I  would 
get  work.  Gawd  knows,  if  I  could." 

"  I  remember  this  fellow,"  said  Colquhoun,  "  for  six 
years.  He  is  a  sturdy  rogue.  Best  give  nothing  to  him 
at  all.  Come  on  Phillis.  We  must  look  for  a  more  prom- 
ising subject." 

"  Poor  fellow  !"  said  Phillis,  closing  her  purse. 

They  passed  on,  and  the  beggar-man  cursed  audibly. 
I  believe  it  is  Mr.  Tupper,  in  his  Proverbial  Philosophy, \;\\o 
explains  that  what  a  beggar  most  wants,  to  make  him  feel 
happier,  is  sympathy.  Now  that  was  just  what  Phillis 
gave,  and  the  beggar-man  only  swore. 

Colquhoun  laughed. 

"  You  may  keep  your  pity,  Phillis,  for  some  one  who 
deserves  it  better.  Now  let  us  take  a  cab  and  go  to  the 
Park.     It  is  four  years  since  I  saw  the  Park." 

It  was  five  o'clock.  The  Park  was  fuller  than  when  he 
saw  It  last.  It  grows  more  crowded  year  after  year,  as  the 
upward  pressure  of  an  enriched  multitude  makes  itself 
felt  more  and  more.  There  was  the  usual  throng  about 
the  gates,  of  those  who  come  to  look  for  great  people,  and 
like  to  tell  whom  they  recognised,  and  who  were  pointed 
out  to  them.  There  were  the  pedestrians  on  either  side 
the  road;  civilians  after  office  hours;  bankers  and  brokers 
from  the  City;  men  up  from  Aldershot;  busy  men  hasten- 
ing home;  loungers  leaning  on  the  rails;  curious  colonials 
gazing  at  the  carriages;  Frenchmen  trying  to  think  that 
Hyde  Park  cannot  compare  with  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  ; 
Germans  mindful  of  their  mighty  army,  their  great  spraw- 
ling Berlin,  the  gap  of  a  century  between  English  pros- 
perity and  Teutonic  militarism,  and  as  envious  as  philos- 
ophy permits;  Americans  owning  that  Ne\y  York,  though 


184  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

its  women  are  lovelier,  has  nothing  to  show  beside  tne 
Park  at  five  on  a  spring  afternoon, — all  the  bright  familiar 
scene  which  Colquhoun  remembered  so  well. 

"  Four  years  since  I  saw  it  last,"  he  repeated  to  the  girl. 
"  I  suppose  there  will  be  none  of  the  faces  that  I  used  to 
know." 

He  was  wrong.  The  first  man  who  greeted  him  was 
his  old  Colonel.  Then  he  came  across  a  man  he  had 
known  in  India.  Then  one  whom  he  had  last  seen,  a  war 
correspondent,  inside  Metz.  He  shook  hands  with  one, 
nodded  to  another,  and  made  appointments  with  all  at  his 
club.  And  as  each  passed,  he  told  something  about  him 
to  his  ward. 

"  That  is  my  old  Colonel — your  father's  brother  officer. 
The  most  gallant  fellow  who  ever  commanded  a  regiment. 
As  soon  as  you  are  settled,  I  should  like  to  bring  him  to 
see  you.  That  is  Macnamara  of  the  London  Herald — a 
man  you  can't  get  except  in  England.  That  is  Lord 
Blandish;  we  were  together  up-country  in  India.  He 
wrote  a  book  about  his  adventures  in  Cashmere.  I  did 
not." 

It  was  a  new  world  to  Phillis.  All  these  carriages?  these 
people:  this  crowd — who  were  they  ? 

"  They  are  not  like  the  faces  I  see  in  the  streets,"  she 
said. 

"  No.  Those  are  faces  of  men  who  work  for  bread. 
These  are  mostly  of  men  who  work  not  at  all,  or  they  work 
for  honour.  There  are  two  or  three  classes  of  mankind, 
you  know,  Phillis." 

"  Servants  and  masters  ?* 

*'  Not  quite.  You  belong  to  the  class  of  those  who  need 
not  work — this  class.  Your  father  knew  all  these  people. 
It  is  a  happy  world  in  its  way — in  its  way,"  he  repeated, 
thinking  of  certain  shipwrecks  he  had  known.  "  Perhaps 
it   is  better  to   have  to   work.     I  do  not  know.     Phillis, 

who  " He  was  going  to  ask  her  who  was  bowing  to 

her,  when  he  turned  pale,  and  stopped  suddenly.     In  the 


THE    GOLDEN    DU,'^  TERFLY.  1 85 

carriage  which  was  passing  within  a  foot  of  where  they 
stood  was  a  lady  whom  he  knew — Mrs.  CassiHs.  He  took 
off  his  hat,  and  Mrs.  Cassilis  stopped  the  carriage  and 
held  out  her  hand. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Phillis  dear  ?  Mr,  Colquhoun,  I  am 
glad  to  see  you  back  again.  Come  as  soon  as  you  can 
and  see  me.  If  you  can  spare  an  afternoon  as  soon  as 
you  are  settled,  give  it  to  me — for  auld  lang  syne." 

The  last  words  were  whispered.  Her  lips  trembled, 
and  her  hand  shook  as  she  spoke.  And  Lawrence's  face 
was  hard.  He  took  off  his  hat  and  drew  back,  Phillis  did 
not  hear  what  he  said.  But  Mrs.  Cassilis  drove  on,  and 
left  the  Park  immediately. 

"  Mrs.  Cassilis  trembled  when  she  spoke  to  you,  Law- 
rence," It  was  exactly  what  a  girl  of  six  would  have 
said. 

*-  Did  she,  Phillis  ?  She  was  cold  perhaps.  Or  perhaps 
she  was  pleased  to  see  old  friends  again.  So  you  know 
her?" 

"Yes.  I  have  dined  at  her  house;  and  I  have  been 
shopping  with  her.  She  does  not  like  me,  I  know;  but 
she  is  kind.     She  has  spoken  to  me  about  you." 

"  So  you  know  Mrs.  Cassillis  ?"  he  repeated.  "  She 
does  not  look  as  if  she  had  any  trouble  on  her  mind,  does 
she  ?  The  smooth  brow  of  a  clear  conscience — Phillis,  if 
you  have  had  enough  of  the  Park,  I  think  it  is  almost  time 
to  drive  you  home." 

Lawrence  Colquhoun  dined  at  Carnarvon  Square,  The 
Twins  dined  at  their  club;  so  that  they  had  the  evening 
to  themselves  and  could  talk. 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind,"  Lawrence  said,  " to  ask 
my  cousin  to  take  charge  of  you,  Phillis.  Agatha  L'Es- 
trange  is  the  kindest  creature  in  the  world.  Will  you  try 
to  like  her  if  she  consents  !" 

'*  Yes,  I  will  try.    But  cuppose  she  does  not  like  me  ?" 

"  Everybody  likes  you.  Miss  Fleming,"  said  Joseph. 

"  She  is  sure  to  like  you,"  said  Lawrence.     "  And  I  will 


1 86  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

come  over  often  and  see  you;  we  will  ride  together,  if  you 
like.  Aud  if  you  would  like  to  have  any  masters  or  les- 
sons in  anything  " 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to  learn  reading,"  Phillis  re- 
marked meditatively.  **  Mr.  Abraham  Dyson  used  to  say  " 
— she  held  up  her  finger,  and  imitated  the  manner  and 
fidgety  dogmatism  of  an  old  man — "  *  Reading  breeds  a 
restless  curiosity,  and  engenders  an  irreverent  spirit  of 
carping  criticism.  Any  jackanapes  who  can  read  thinks 
himself  qualified  to  judge  the  affairs  of  the  nation.  Read- 
ing, indeed  !*  But  I  think  I  should  like,  after  all,  to  do 
what  everybody  else  can  do." 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

'•  You  bear  a  gentle  mind,  and  heavenly  blessings 
Follow  such  creatures." 

HALF  a  mile  or  so  above  Teddington  Lock — where 
you  are  quite  above  the  low  tides,  which  leave  the 
mud-banks  in  long  stretches  and  spoil  the  beauty  of  the 
splendid  river;  where  the  stream  flows  on  evenly  between 
its  banks,  only  sometimes  swifter  and  stronger,  sometimes 
slower  and  more  sluggish;  where  you  may  lie  and  listen  a 
whole  summer's  day  to  the  murmurous  wash  of  the  cur- 
rent among  the  lilies  and  the  reeds, — there  stands  a  house, 
uoticeable  among  other  houses  by  reason  of  its  warm  red 
brick,  its  many  gables,  and  its  wealth  of  creepers.  Its 
gardens  and  lawns  slope  gently  down  to  the  river's  edge; 
the  willows  hang  over  it,  letting  their  long  leaves,  like 
maidens*  fingers,  lie  lightly  on  the  cool  surface  of  the 
water;  there  is  a  boat-house,  where  a  boat  used  to  lie,  but 
it  is  empty  now — ivy  covers  it  over,  dark  ivy  that  contrasts 
with  the  lighter  greens  of  the  sweet  May  foliage.'*  the 
lilacs  and  laburnums  are  exulting  in  the  transient  glory  of 
foliage  and  flower;  the  westeria  hangs  its  purple  clusters 
like  grapes  upon  the  wall;  there  are  greenhouses  and 
vineries;  there  are   flower-beds  bright  with  the  glories  of 


THK   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  187 

modern  gardening;  and  there  are  old-fashioned  round 
plots  of  ground  innocent  of  bedding-out,  where  flourish 
the  good  old-fashioned  flowers,  stocks,  pansies,  boy's-love, 
sweet-william,  and  the  rest,  which  used  to  be  cultivated 
for  their  perfume  and  colour  long  before  bedding  out  was 
thought  of;  an  old  brick  wall  runs  down  to  the  river's 
edge  as  a  boundary  on  either  side,  thick  and  warm,  with 
peaches,  plums,  and  apricots  trained  in  formal  lines,  and 
crowned  with  wall-flowers  and  long  grasses,  like  the  walls 
of  some  old  castle.  Behind  are  rooms  which  open  upon 
the  lawn;  round  the  windows  clamber  the  roses  waiting 
for  the  suns  of  June;  and  if  you  step  into  the  house  from 
the  garden,  you  will  enter  a  dainty  drawing-room,  light 
and  sunny,  adorned  with  all  manner  of  feminine  things, 
and  you  will  find,  besides,  boudoirs,  studies,  all  sorts  of 
pretty  rooms  into  which  the  occupants  of  the  house  may 
retire,  the  time  they  feel  disposed  to  taste  the  joys  of 
solitude. 

The  house  of  a  lady.  Does  any  one  ever  consider  what 
thousands  of  these  dainty  homes  exist  in  England  ?  All 
about  the  country  they  stand — houses  where  women  live 
away  their  innocent  and  restful  lives,  lapped  from  birth  to 
death  in  an  atmosphere  of  peace  and  warmth.  Such  lux- 
ury as  they  desire  is  theirs,  for  they  are  wealthy  enough  to 
purchase  all  they  wish.  Chiefly  they  love  the  luxury  of 
Art,  and  fill  their  portfolios  with  water-colours.  But  their 
passions  even  for  Art  are  apt  to  be  languid,  and  they 
mostly  desire  to  continue  in  the  warm  air,  perfumed  like 
'.he  wind  that  cometh  from  the  sweet  south,  which  they 
iiave  created  round  themselves.  The  echoes  of  the  outer 
world  fall  upon  their  ears  like  the  breaking  of  the  rough 
sea  upon  a  shore  so  far  off  that  the  wild  dragging  of  the 
shingle,  with  its  long-drawn  cry,  sounds  like  a  distant 
song.  These  ladies  know  nothing  of  the  fiercer  joys  of 
life,  and  nothing  of  its  pains.  The  miseries  of  the  world 
they  understand  not,  save  that  they  have  been  made  pic- 
turesque in  novels.     They  have  no  ambition,  and  take  no 


l88  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

part  in  any  battles.  They  have  not  spent  their  strength 
in  action,  and  therefore  feel  no  weariness.  Society  is  un- 
derstood to  mean  a  few  dinners,  with  an  occasional  visit  to 
the  wilder  dissipations  of  town;  and  their  most  loved  en- 
tertainments are  those  gatherings  known  as  garden  parties. 
Duty  means  following  up  in  a  steady  but  purposeless  way 
some  line  of  study  which  will  never  be  mastered.  Good 
works  mean  subscription  to  societies.  Many  a  kind  lady 
thinks  in  her  heart  of  hearts  that  the  annual  guinea  to  a 
missionary  society  will  be  of  far  more  avail  to  her  future 
welfare  than  a  life  of  purity  and  innocence.  The  Christian 
virtues  naturally  find  their  home  in  such  a  house.  They 
grow  of  their  own  accord,  like  the  daisies,  the  buttercups, 
and  the  field  convolvulus:  Love,  Joy,  Peace,  Gentleness, 
Goodness,  Faith,  Meekness,  Temperance,  all  the  things 
against  which  there  is  no  law — which  of  them  is  not  to  be 
seen  abundantly  blossoming  and  luxuriant  in  the  cottages 
and  homes  of  these  English  ladies  ? 

In  this  house  by  the  river  lived  Mrs.  L'Estrange.  Her 
name  was  Agatha,  and  everybody  who  knew  her  called  her 
Agatha  L'Estrange.  When  a  woman  is  always  called  by 
her  Christian  name,  it  is  a  sign  that  she  is  loved  and  lova- 
ble. If  a  man,  on  the  other  hand,  gets  to  be  known,  with- 
out any  reason  for  the  distinction,  by  his  Christian  name, 
it  is  generally  a  sure  sign  that  he  is  sympathetic,  but  blind 
to  his  own  interests.  She  was  a  widow,  and  childless. 
She  had  been  a  widow  so  long,  her  husband  had  been  so 
much  older  than  herself,  her  married  life  had  been  so 
short,  and  the  current  of  her  life  so  little  dis- 
turbed by  it,  that  she  had  almost  forgotten  that  she 
was  once  a  wife.  She  had  an  ample  income  ;  she  lived  in 
the  way  that  she  loved  ;  she  gathered  her  friends  about 
her  ;  she  sometimes,  but  at  rare  intervals,  revisited  society; 
mostly  she  preferred  her  quiet  life  in  the  country.  Girls 
came  from  London  to  stay  with  her,  and  wondered  how 
Agatha  managed  to  exist.  When  the  season  was  over, 
leaving  its  regrets  and  its  fatigues,  with  the  usual  share  of 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  189 

hollowness  and  Dead-Sea  fruit  they  came  again,  and  en- 
vied her  tranquil  home. 

She  was  first  cousin  to  Lawrence  Colquhoun,  whom  she 
still,  from  force  of  habit,  regarded  as  a  boy.  He  was 
very  nearly  the  same  age  as  herself,  and  they  had  been 
brought  up  together.  There  was  nothing  about  his  life 
that  she  did  not  know,  except  one  thing — the  reason  of 
his  abrupt  disappearance  four  years  before.  She  was  his 
confidante:  as  a  boy  he  told  her  all  his  dreams  of  great- 
ness ;  as  a  young  man  all  his  dreams  of  love  and  pleasure. 
She  knew  the  soft  and  generous  nature,  out  of  which  great 
men  cannot  be  formed,  which  was  his.  She  saw  the  lofty 
dreams  die  away  ;  and  she  hoped  for  him  that  he  would 
keep  something  of  the  young  ideal.  He  did.  Lawrence 
Colquhoun  was  a  man  about  town  ;  but  he  retained  his 
good-nature.  It  is  not  usual  among  the  yonng  gentle- 
men who  pursue  pleasure  as  a  profession^  it  is  not  ex- 
pected of  them,  after  a  few  years  of  idleness,  gambling, 
and  the  rest,  to  have  any  good-nature  surviving,  or  any 
thought  left  at  all,  except  for  themselves  ;  therefore  Law- 
rence Colquhoun's  case  was  unusual,  and  popularity  pro- 
portional. He  tired  of  garrison  life  ;  he  sold  out  ;  he  re- 
mained about  town ;  the  years  ran  on,  and  he  neither 
married  nor  talked  of  marrying.  But  he  used  to  go  down 
to  his  cousin  once  a  week,  and  talk  to  her  about  his  idle 
life.  There  came  a  day  when  he  left  off  coming,  or  if  he 
came  at  all,  his  manner  to  his  cousin  was  altered.  He  be- 
came gloomy  ;  and  one  day  she  heard,  in  a  brief  and  un- 
satisfactory letter,  that  he  was  going  to  travel  for  a  length- 
ened period.  The  letter  came  from  Scotland,  and  was  as 
brief  as  a  dinner  invitation. 

He  went  ;  he  was  away  for  four  years  ;  during  that  time 
he  never  once  wrote  to  her  ;  she  heard  nothing  of  him  or 
from  him. 

One  day,  without  any  notice,  he  appeared  again. 

He  was  very  much  the  same  as  when  he  left  England 
— men  alter  little  between  thirty  and  fifty — only  a  litt'e 


190  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

graver  ;  his  beard  a  little  touched  with  the  grey  hairs 
which  belong  to  the  eighth  lustrum  ;  his  eyes  a  little 
crowsfooted  ;  his  form  a  little  filled  out.  The  gloom  was 
gone,  however  ;  he  was  again  the  kindly  Lawrence,  the 
genial  Lawrence,  Lawrence  the  sympathetic,  Lawrence  the 
lazy. 

He  walked  in  as  if  he  had  been  away  a  week.  Agatha 
heard  a  step  upon  the  gravel-walk,  and  knew  it.  Her 
heart  beat  a  little — although  a  woman  may  be  past  forty 
she  may  have  a  heart  still — and  her  eyes  sparkled.  She 
was  sitting  at  work — some  little  useless  prettiness.  On 
the  work-table  lay  a  novel,  which  she  read  in  the  intervals 
of  stitching  ;  the  morning  was  bright  and  sunny,  with  only 
a  suspicion  of  east  wind,  and  her  windows  were  open  ; 
flowers  stood  upon  her  table  ;  flowers  in  pots  and  vases 
stood  in  her  windows  ;  such  flowers  as  bloom  in  May  were 
bright  in  her  garden,  and  the  glass  doors  of  her  conserva- 
tory showed  a  wealth  of  flowers  within.  A  house  full  of 
flowers,  and  herself  a  flower  too — call  her  a  rose  fully 
blown,  or  call  her  a  glory  of  early  autumn — a  handsome 
woman  still,  sweet  and  to  be  loved,  with  the  softness  of 
her  tranquil  life  in  every  line  of  her  face,  and  her  warmth 
of  heart  in  every  passing  expression. 

She  started  when  she  heard  his  step,  oecause  she  recog- 
nised it.  Then  she  sat  up  and  smiled  to  herself.  She 
knew  how  her  cousin  would  come  back. 

In  fact  he  walked  in  at  her  open  window,  and  held  out 
his  hand  without  saying  a  word.  Then  he  sat  down,  and 
took  a  single  glance  at  his  cousin  first  and  the  room  after- 
wards. 

•■'  I  have  not  seen  you  lately,  Lawrence,"  said  Agatha,  as 
if  he  had  been  away  for  a  month  or  so. 

"  No  ;  I  have  been  in  America." 

"  Really  !  You  like  America  ? "  She  waited  for  him  to 
tell  her  what  he  would. 

"  Yes.  I  came  back  yesterday.  You  are  looking  well, 
Agatha." 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  I9I 

"  I  am  very  well." 

"And  you  have  got  a  new  picture  on  the  wall.  Where 
did  you  buy  this  ?  " 

"At  Agnew's,  three  years  ago.  It  was  in  the  Exhibi- 
tion. Now  I  think  of  it,  you  have  been  away  for  four 
years,  Lawrence." 

'*  I  like  it      Have  you  anything  to  tell  me,  Agatha?" 

"  Nothing  that  will  interest  you.  The  house  is  the 
same.  We  have  had  several  dreadful  winters,  and  I  have 
been  in  constant  fear  that  my  shrubs  would  be  killed. 
Some  of  them  were.  My  dog  Pheenie  is  dead,  and 
I  never  intend  to  have  another.  The  cat  that  you 
used  to  tease  is  well.  My  aviary  has  increased  ;  my 
horses  are  the  same  you  knew  four  years  ago ;  my 
servants  are  the  same  ;  and  my  habits,  I  am  thankful  to 
say,  have  not  deteriorated  to  my  knowledge,  although  I 
am  four  years  older.'" 

"  And  your  young  ladies — the  traps  you  used  to  set 
for  me  when  I  was  four  years  younger,  Agatha — where  are 
they  ? " 

"  Married,  Lawrence,  all  of  them.  What  a  pity  that 
you  could  not  fix  yourself  !  But  it  is  never  too  late  to 
mend.  At  one  time  I  feared  you  would  be  attracted  by 
Victoria  Pengelley." 

Lawrence  Colquhoun  visibly  changed  colour,  but 
Agatha  was  not  looking  at  him. 

"  That  would  have  been  a  mistake.     I  thought  so  theur, 
and  I  know  it  now.     She  is  a  cold  and  bloodless  woman 
Lawrence.     Besides,  she  is  married,  thank  goodness.    Wc 
must  find  you  some  one  else." 

"  My  love  days  are  over,"  he  said,  with  a  harsh  and 
grating  voice.     "  I  buried  them  before  I  went  abroad." 

"  You  will  tell  me  all  about  that  some  day,  when  you 
feel  communicative.  Meantime,  stay  to  dinner,  and  en- 
liven me  with  all  your  adventures.  You  may  have  some 
tea  if  you  like,  but  I  do  not  invite  you,  because  you  will 
want  to  go  away  again   directly  afterwards.     Lawrence, 


192  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY, 

what  do  you  intend  to  do,  now  you  are  home  again  ?  Are 
you  going  to  take  up  the  old  aimless  life,  or  shall  you  be 
serious  ? " 

"  I  think  the  aimless  life  suits  me  best.  And  it  certainly 
is  the  slowest.  Don't  you  think,  Agatha,  that  as  we  have 
got  to  get  old  and  presently  to  die,  we  may  as  well  go  in 
for  making  the  time  go  slow  ?  That  is  the  reason  why  I 
have  never  done  anything." 

"  I  never  do  anything  myself,  except  listen  to  what 
other  people  tell  me.  But  I  find  the  days  slip  away  all 
too  quickly." 

"Agatha,  I  am  in  a  difficulty.  That  is  one  of  the  rea- 
sons why  I  have  come  to  see  you  to  day." 

"  Poor  Lawrence  !     You  always  are  in  a  difficulty." 

"  This  time  it  is  not  my  fault ;  but  it  is  serious.  Agatha, 
I  have  got — a  " 

I  do  not  know  why  he  hesitated,  but  his  cousin  caught 
him  up  with  a  little  cry. 

"  Not  a  wife,  Lawrence  ;  not  a  wife  without  telling 
me!" 

"  No,  Agatha,"  he  flushed  crimson,  "  not  a  wife.  That 
would  have  been  a  great  deal  worse.  What  I  have  got  is 
a  ward." 

"  A  ward  ?" 

"  Do  you  remember  Dick  Fleming,  who  was  killed  in 
the  hunting-field  about  fifteen  years  ago  ?" 

"  Yes,  perfectly.  He  was  one  of  my  swains  ever  so  long 
ago,  before  I  married  my  poor  dear  husband." 

Agatha  had  used  the  formula  of  her  "  poor  dear  hus- 
band "  for  more  than  twenty  years  ;  so  long,  in  fact,  that 
it  was  become  a  mere  collocation  of  words,  and  had  no 
longer  any  meaning,  certainly  no  sadness. 

"  He  left  a  daughter,  then  a  child  of  four  or  five.  And 
he  made  me  one  of  that  child's  guardians*  The  other  was 
a  Mr.  Dyson,  who  took  her  and  brought  her  up.  He  is 
dead,  and  the  young  lady,  now  nineteen  years  of  age, 
comes  to  me." 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  1 93 

"  But,  Lawrence,  what  on  earth  are  you  going  to  do 
with  a  girl  of  nineteen  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,  Agatha.  I  cannot  have  her  with  me  in 
the  Albany,  can  I  ?" 

"  Not  very  well,  I  think." 

"  I  cannot  take  a  small  house  in  Chester  Square,  and 
give  evening-parties  for  my  ward  and  myself,  can  I  ?" 

*•  Not  very  well,  Lawrence." 

"She  is  staying  with  my  lawyer,  Jagenal;  a  capital  fel- 
low, but  his  house  is  hardly  the  right  place  for  a  young 
lady." 

"  Lawrence,  what  will  you  do  ?  This  is  a  very  serious 
responsibility." 

"  Very." 

"  What  sort  of  a  girl  is  she  ?" 

"  Phillis  Fleming  is  what  you  would  call,  I  think,  a  beau- 
tiful girl.  She  is  tall,  and  has  a  good  figure.  Her  eyei 
are  brown,  aad  her  hair  is  brown,  with  lots  of  it.  Her 
features  are  small,  and  not  too  regular.  She  has  got  a  very 
sweet  smile,  and  I  should  say  a  good  temper,  so  long  ai 
she  has  her  own  way. 

"  No,  doubt,"  said  Agatha.  "Pray,  go  on;  you  seem  to 
have  studied  her  appearance  with  a  really  fatherly  care.' 

"She  has  a  very  agreeable  voice;  a  naivete  in  mannei 
that  you  should  like;  she  is  clever  and  well  informed." 

"  Is  she  strong-minded,  Lawrence  ?" 

"  NO,"  said  Lawrence,  with  emphasis,  "  she  is  not.  She 
has  excellent  ideas  on  the  subject  of  her  sex." 

"  Always  in  extremes,  of  course,  though  I  am  not  cer- 
tain what." 

"  She  wants,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  nothing  but  the  society 
of  some  amiable  accomplished  gentlewoman  " 

"  Lawrence,  you  are  exactly  the  same  as  you  always 
were.  You  begin  by  flattery.  Now  I  know  what  you 
came  here  for." 

"An  amiable  accomplished  gentlewoman,  who  would 
exercise  a  gradual  and  steady  influence  upon  her." 


194  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"  You  want  her  to  stay  with  me,  Lawrence.  And  you 
are  keeping  something  back.  Tell  me  instantly.  You 
say  she  is  beautiful.  It  must  be  something  else.  Are  her 
manners  in  any  way  unusual  ?  Does  she  drop  h's^  and  eat 
with  her  knife  ?" 

**  No,  her  manners  are,  I  should  say,  perfect.' 

"Temper  good,  you  say;  manner  perfect;  appearance 
graceful.  What  can  be  the  reserved  objection  ?  My  dear 
cousin,  you  pique  my  curiosity.  She  is  sometimes,  proba- 
bly insane  ?" 

"  No,  Agatha,  not  that  I  know  of.  It  is  only  that  her 
guardian  brought  her  up  in  entire  seclusion  from  the 
world,  and  would  not  have  her  taught  to  read  and  write." 

"  How  very  remarkable  !" 

"  On  the  other  hand,  she  can  draw.  She  draws  every- 
thing and  everybody.  She  has  got  a  book  full  of  drawings 
which  she  calls  her  diary.  They  are  the  record  of  her 
life.  She  will  show  them  to  you,  and  tell  you  all  her 
story.  You  will  take  her  for  a  little  while,  Agatha,  will 
you  ?" 

Of  course  she  said  '-Yes."  She  had  never  refused  Law- 
rence Colquhoun  anything  in  her  life.  Had  he  been  a 
needy  man  he  would  have  been  dangerous.  But  Law- 
rence Colquhoun  wanted  nothing  for  himself. 

"  My  dear  Agatha,  it  is  very  good  of  you.  You  will 
find  the  most  splendid  material  to  work  upon,  better  than 
you  ever  had.  The  girl  is  different  from  any  other  girl 
you  have  ever  known.  She  talks  and  thinks  like  a  boy. 
She  is  as  strong  and  active  as  a  young  athlete.  I  believe 
she  would  outrun  Atalanta;  and  yet  I  think  she  is  a 
thorough  woman  at  heart." 

"  I  should  not  at  all  wonder  at  her  being  a  thorough 
woman  at  heart.  Most  of  us  are.  But,  Lawrence,  you 
must  not  fall  in  love  with  your  own  ward." 

He  laughed  a  little  uneasily, 

**  I  am  too  old  for  a  girl  of  nineteen,"  he  replied. 

"At  any  rate,  you  have  excited  my  curiosity.     Let  her 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  195 

come,  Lawrence,  as  soon  as  you  please.  I  want  to  see 
this  paragon  of  girls,  who  is  more  ignorant  than  a  charity 
school  girl." 

"  On  the  contrary,  Agatha,  she  is  better  informed  than 
most  girls  of  her  age.  If  she  is  not  well  read  she  is  well 
told." 

"  But  really,  Lawrence,  think.     She  cannot  read,  even.' 

"  Not  if  you  gave  her  a  basketful  of  tracts.  But  that  is 
rather  a  distinction  now.  At  least  she  will  never  want  to 
go  in  for  what  they  call  the  Higher  Education,  will  she  ?" 

"  She  [must  learn  to  read ;  but  will  she  ever  master 
Spelling  ?" 

"  Very  few  people  do;  they  only  pretend.  I  am  weak 
myself  in  spelling.  Phillis  does  not  want  to  be  a  certifi- 
cated Mistress,  Agatha." 

"  And  Arithmetic,  too." 

"  Well,  my  cousin,  of  course  the  Rule  of  Three  is  as 
necessary  to  life  as  the  Use  of  the  Globes,  over  which  the 
schoolmistresses  used  to  keep  such  a  coil.  And  it  has 
been  about  as  accessible  to  poor  Phillis  as  an  easy  seat  to 
a  tombstone  cherub.  But  she  can  count  and  multiply  and 
add,  and  tell  you  how  much  things  ought  to  come  to;  and 
really  when  you  think  of  it,  a  woman  does  not  want  much 
more,  does  she  ?" 

"It  is  the  mental  training,  Lawrence.  Think  of  the 
loss  of  mental  training." 

"  I  feel  that,  too,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  of  sympathy' 
"  Think  of  growing  up  without  the  discipline  of  Vulgar 
Fractions  or  Genteel  Decimals.  One  is  appalled  at  imag- 
ining what  our  young  ladies  would  be  without  it.  But  you 
shall  teach  her  what  you  like,  Agatha." 

"  I  am  half  afraid  of  her,  Lawrence.' 

"  Nonsense,  my  cousin;  she  is  sweetness  itself.  Let  me 
bring  her  to-morrow." 

"  Yes;  she  can  have  the  room  next  to  mine."  Agatha 
sighed  a  little.  "Suppose  we  don't  get  on  together  after  all. 
It  would  be  such  a  disappointment,  and  such  a  painto  part." 


196  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"  Get  on,  Agatha  ? — and  with  you  ?  Well,  all  the  world 
gets  on  with  you.  Was  there  ever  a  girl  in  the  world  that 
you  did  not  get  on  with  ? 

"  Yes,  there  was.  I  never  got  on  with  Victoria  Pengel- 
ley — Mrs.  Cassillis.  Shall  you  call  upon  her,  Law- 
rence ?" 

"  No — yes — I  don't  know,  Agatha,"  he  replied,  hurried- 
ly; and  went  away  with  scant  leave-taking.  He  neither 
took  any  tea  nor  stayed  to  dinner. 

Then  Agatha  remembered. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said.  "  How  stupid  of  me  !  They 
used  to  talk  about  Lawrence  and  Victoria.  Can  he  think 
of  her  still  ?  Why,  the  woman  is  as  cold  as  ice  and  as  hard 
as  steel,  besides  being  married.  A  man  who  would  fall  in 
love  with  Victoria  Pengelley  would  be  capable  of  falling  iu 
love  with  a  marble  statue." 

"  My  couisn,  Lawrence  Colquhoun,"  she  told  her  friends 
in  her  letters — Agatha  spent  as  much  time  letter- writing  as 
Madame  du  Deffand — "  has  come  back  from  his  travels. 
He  is  not  at  all  changed,  except  that  he  has  a  few  grey 
hairs  in  his  beard.  He  laughs  in  the  same  pleasant  way; 
has  the  same  soft  voice;  thinks  as  little  seriously  about 
life;  and  is  as  perfectly  charming  as  he  has  always  been. 
He  has  a  ward,  a  young  lady,  daughter  of  an  old  friend  of 
mine.  She  is  named  Phillis  Fleming.  I  am  going  to  have 
her  with  me  for  a  while,  and  I  hope  you  will  come  and 
make  her  acquaintance,  but  not  just  yet,  not  until  we  are 
used  to  each  other.     I  hear  nothing  but  good  of  her." 

Thus  did  this  artful  woman  gloss  over  the  drawbacks  of 
poor  Phillis's  education.  Her  friends  were  to  keep  away 
till  such  time  as  Phillis  had  been  drilled,  inspected,  re- 
viewed, manoeuvred,  and  taught  the  social  tone.  No  word, 
you  see,  of  the  little  deficiencies  which  time  alone  could 
be  expected  to  fill  up.  Agatha  L'Estrange,  in  her  way, 
was  a  woman  of  the  world.  She  expected,  in  spite  of  her 
cousin's  favourable  report,  to  find  an  awkward,  rather 
pretty,  wholly  unpresentable  hoyden.     And  she  half  re- 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  197 

pented  that  she  had  so  easily  acceded  to  Lawrence  Col- 
quhoun's  request. 

It  was  nearly  six  next  day  when  Phillis  arrived.  Her 
guardian  drove  her  out  in  a  dog-cart,  her  maid  following 
behind  with  the  luggage.  This  mode  of  conveyance  being 
rapid,  open,  and  especially  adapted  for  purposes  of  obser- 
vation, pleased  Phillis  mightily;  she  even  preferred  it  to  a 
hansom  cab.  She  said  little  on  the  road,  being  too  busy 
in  the  contemplation  of  men  and  manners.  Also  she  was 
yet  hardly  at  home  with  her  new  guardian.  He  was 
pleasant;  he  was  thoughtful  of  her;  but  she  had  not  yet 
found  out  how  to  talk  with  him.  Now,  with  Jack  Dun- 
querque — and  then  she  began  to  think  how  Jack  would 
look  driving  a  dog-cart,  and  how  she  should  look  beside 
him. 

Lawrence  Colquhoun  looked  at  his  charge  with  eyes 
of  admiration.  Many  a  prettier  girl,  he  thought,  might  be 
seen  in  a  London  ballroom  or  in  the  Park,  but  not  one 
brighter  or  fresher.  Where  did  it  come  from,  this  piquante 
way? 

Phillis  asked  no  more  questions  about  Mrs.  L'Estrange. 
Having  once  made  up  her  mind  that  she  should  rebel  and 
return  to  Mr.  Jagenal  in  case  she  did  not  approve  of  Mr. 
Colquhoun's  cousin,  she  rested  tranquil.  To  be  sure  she 
was  perfectly  prepared  to  like  her,  being  still  in  the  stage 
of  credulous  curiosity  in  which  every  fresh  acquaintance 
seemed  to  possess  all  possible  virtues.  Up  to  the  present 
she  had  made  one  exception  ;  I  am  sorry  to  say  it  was 
that  of  the  only  woman  she  knew — Mrs.  Cassilis.  Phillis 
could  not  help  feeling  as  if  life  with  Mrs.  Cassilis  would 
after  a  time  become  tedious.  Rather,  she  thought,  life 
with  the  Twins, 

They  arrived  at  the  house  by  the  river.  Agatha  was  in 
the  garden.  She  looked  at  her  visitor  with  a  little  curi- 
osity, and  welcomed  her  with  both  hands  and  a  kiss.  Mrs. 
Cassilis  did   not  kiss   Phillis.     In   fact,  nobody  ever  had 


198  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY, 

kissed  her  at  all  since  the  day  when  she  entered  Abraham 
Dyson's  house.  Jack,  she  remembered,  had  proposed  to 
commence  their  friendship  with  an  imitation  of  the  early 
Christians,  but  the  proposal,  somehow,  came  to  nothing. 
So  when  Agatha  drew  her  gently  towards  herself  and 
kissed  her  softly  on  the  forehead,  poor  Phillis  changed 
colour  and  was  confused.  Agatha  thought  it  was  shyness, 
but  Phillis  was  never  shy. 

"  You  are  in  good  time,  Lawrence.  We  shall  have  time 
for  talk  before  dinner.  You  may  lie  about  in  the  garden, 
if  you  please,  till  we  come  to  look  for  you.  Come,  my 
dear,  and  I  will  show  you  your  room." 

At  Highgate  Phillis's  room  was  furnished  with  a  massive 
four  post  bedstead  and  adorned  with  dusky  hangings. 
Solidity,  comfort,  and  that  touch  of  gloom  which  our 
grandfathers  always  lent  to  their  bedrooms,  marked  the 
Highgate  apartment.  At  Carnarvon  Square  she  had  the 
"  spare  room,"  and  it  was  furnished  in  much  the  same 
manner,  only  that  it  was  larger,  and  the  curtains  were  of 
lighter  colour. 

She  saw  now  a  small  room,  still  with  the  afternoon  sun 
upon  it,  with  a  little  iron  bedstead  in  green  and  gold, 
and  white  curtains.  There  was  a  sofa,  an  easy-chair, 
a  table  at  one  of  the  windows,  and  one  in  the  centre 
of  the  room  ;  there  were  bookshelves  ;  and  there  were 
pictures. 

Phillis  turned  her  bright  face  with  a  grateful  cry  of 
surprise. 

"  Oh,  what  a  beautiful  room  !" 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  it,  my  dear.  I  hope  you  will  be 
comfortable  in  it." 

Phillis  began  to  look  at  the  pictures  on  the  wall. 

She  was  critical  about  pictures,  and  these  did  not  seem 
very  good. 

''  Do  you  like  the  pictures  ?" 

"  This  one  is  out  of  drawing,"  she  said,  standing  before 
a  water-colour.     "  I   like  this  better,"  moving  on  to  the 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  I99 

next ;  "but  the  painting  is  not  clear.' 

Agatha  remembered  what  she  had  paid  for  these  pic- 
tures, and  hoped  the  fair  critic  was  wrong.  But  she  was 
not ;  she  was  right. 

And  then,  in  her  journey  round  the  room,  Phillis  came 
to  the  open  window,  and  cried  aloud  with  surprise  and 
astonishment. 

"  O    Mrs.  L'Estrange  !  is   it — it " she   asked,  in  an 

awestruck  voice,  turning  grave  eyes  upon  her  hostess,  as 
if  imploring  that  no  mistake  should  be  made  on  a  matter 
of  such  importance.     "  Is  it — really — the  Thames  i" 

'*  Why,  my  dear,  of  course  it  is." 

"  I  have  never  seen  a  river.  I  have  so  longed  to  see  a 
river,  and  especially  the  Thames.     Do  you  know — 

"  •  Sweet  Thames,  run  softly  till  I  end  my  song  I ' 

And  again — Oh,  there  are  swans  ! 

"  •  With  that  I  saw  two  swans  of  goodly  hue 
Come  softly  swimming  down  along  the  lee  ; 
Two  fairer  birds  I  never  yet  did  see.' " 

"  I  am  glad  you  read  poetry,  my  dear." 

"  But  I  do  not.  I  cannot  read  ;  I  only  remember.  Mrs. 
L'Estrange,  can  we  get  close  to  it,  quite  close  to  the  water  ? 
I  want  to  see  it  flowing." 

They  went  back  into  the  garden,  where  Lawrence  was 
lying  in  the  shade,  doing  nothing.  Phillis  looked  not  at 
the  flowers  or  the  spring  blossoms  ;  she  hurried  Agatha 
across  the  lawn,  and  stood  at  the  edge,  gazing  at  the 
water. 

"  I  should  like,"  she  murmured  presently,  after  a  silence 
— "  I  should  like  to  be  in  a  boat  and  drift  slowly  down 
between  the  banks,  seeing  everything  as  we  passed,  until 
we  came  to  the  place  where  all  the  ships  come  up.  Jack 
said  he  would  take  me  to  see  the  great  ships  sailing  home 
laden  with  their  precious  things.  Perhaps  he  will.  But, 
O  Mrs.  L'Estrange,  how  sweet  it  is  !  There  is  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  tree  ;  see  how  the  swans  sail  up  and  down ; 


200  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

there  are  the  water-lilies  ;  and  look,  there  are  the  light 
and  shade  chasing  each  other  up  the  river  before  the 
wind." 

Agatha  let  her  stay  a  little  longer,  and  then  led  her 
away  to  show  her  the  flowers  and  hothouses.  Phillis 
knew  all  about  these  and  discoursed  learnedly.  But  her 
thoughts  were  with  the  river. 

Lawrence  went  away  soon  after  dinner.  It  was  a  full 
moon,  and  the  night  was  warm.  Agatha  and  Phillis  went 
into  the  garden  again  when  Lawrence  left  them.  It  was 
still  and  silent,  and  as  they  stood  upon  the  walk,  the  girl 
heard  the  low  murmurous  wash  of  the  current  singing  an 
invitation  among  the  grasses  and  reeds  of  the  bank. 

"  Let  us  go  and  look  at  the  river,  again,"  she  said. 

If  it  was  beautiful  in  the  day,  with  the  evening  sun  upon 
it,  it  was  ten  times  as  beautiful  by  night,  when  the  shad- 
ows made  great  blacknesses,  and  the  bright  moon  silvered 
all  the  outlines  and  threw  a  long  way  of  light  upon  the 
rippling  water. 

Presently  they  came  in  and  went  to  bed. 

Agatha,  half  an  hour  later,  heard  Phillis's  window  open. 
The  girl  was  looking  at  the  river  again  in  the  moonlight. 
She  saw  the  water  glimmer  in  the  moonlight  ;  she  heard 
the  whisper  of  the  waves.  Her  thoughts — they  were  the 
long  thoughts  of  a  child — went  up  the  stream,  and  won- 
dered through  what  meadows  and  by  what  hills  the  stream 
had  flowed  ;  then  she  followed  the  current  down,  and  had 
to  picture  it  among  the  ships  before  it  was  lost  in  the 
mighty  ocean. 

As  she  looked  there  passed  a  boat  full  of  people.  They 
were  probably  rough  and  common  people,  but  among 
them  was  a  woman,  and  she  was  singing.  Phillis  wondered 
who  they  were.  The  woman  had  a  sweet  voice.  As  they 
rowed  by  the  house  one  of  the  men  lit  a  lantern,  and  the 
light  fell  upon  their  faces,  making  them  clear  and  distinct 
for  a  moment,  and  then  was  reflected  in  the  black  water 
below.     Two   of   them   were  rowing,  and  the  boat   sped 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  20I 

swiftly  on  its  way  down  the  stream.  Phillis  longed  to  be 
with  them  on  the  river. 

When  they  were  gone  there  was  silence  for  a  space,  and 
then  the  night  became  suddenly  musical. 

"  Jug,  jug,  jug  ! "  It  was  the  nightingale  ;  but  Phillis's 
brain  was  excited,  and  to  her  it  was  a  song  with  words. 
"  Come,  come,  come  ! "  sang  the  bird.  "  Stay  with  us 
here  and  rest  —  and  rest.  This  is  better  than  the 
town.  Here  are  sweetness  and  peace ;  this  is  the 
home  of  love  and  gentleness  ;  here  you  shall  find  the 
Coping-stone." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

"  But  If  ye  saw  that  which  no  eyes  can  see, 
The  inward  beauty  of  her  lively  spright 
Garnished  with  heavenly  gifts  of  high  degree, 
Much  more,  then,  would  you  wonder  at  the  sight." 

I  LIKE  her,  my  dear  Lawrence,"  Agatha  wrote,  a 
1  fortnight  after  Phillis's  arrival.  "  I  like  her  not 
only  a  great  deal  better  than  I  expected,  but  more  than 
any  girl  I  have  ever  learned  to  know.  She  is  innocent, 
but  then  innocence  is  very  easily  lost  ;  she  is  fresh,  but 
freshness  is  very  often  a  kind  of  electro-plating,  which 
rubs  off  and  shows  the  base  metal  beneath.  Still  Phillis's 
nature  is  pure  gold  ;  of  that  I  am  quite  certain  ;  and  with 
sincere  people  one  always  feels  at  ease. 

"  We  were  a  little  awkward  at  first,  though  perhaps  the 
awkwardness  was  chiefly  mine,  because  I  hardly  knew 
what  to  talk  about.  It  seemed  as  if,  between  myself  and 
a  girl  who  cannot  read  or  write,  there  must  be  such  a  great 
gulf  that  there  would  be  nothing  in  common.  How  con- 
ceited we  are  over  our  education  !  Lawrence,  she  is  quite 
the  best-informed  girl  that  I  know;  she  has  a  perfectly 
wonderful  memory;  repeats  pages  of  verse  which  her 
guardian  taught   her  by  reading  it  to  her;  talks  French 


202  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

very  well,  because  she  has  always  had  a  French  maid; 
plays  and  sings  by  ear;  and  draws  like  a  Royal  Academi- 
cian. The  curious  thing,  however,  is  the  effect  which  her 
knowledge  has  had  upon  her  mind.  She  knows  what  she 
has  been  told,  and  nothing  more.  Consequently  her  mind 
is  all  light  and  shade,  like  a  moonlight  landscape.  She 
wants  atmosphere  j  there  is  no  haze  about  her.  I  did  not 
at  all  understand,  until  I  knew  Phillis,  what  a  very  impor- 
tant part  haze  plays  in  our  everyday  life,  I  thought  we 
were  all  governed  by  clear  and  definite  views  of  duty,  re- 
ligion, and  politics.  My  poor  Lawrence,  we  are  all  in  a 
fog.  It  is  only  Phillis  who  lives  in  the  cloudless  realms  of 
pure  conviction.  In  politics  she  is  a  Tory,  with  distinct 
ideas  on  the  necessity  of  hanging  all  Radicals.     As  for  her 

religion But  that  does   not   concern   you,  my  cousin. 

Or,  perhaps,  like  most  of  your  class,  you  never  think  about 
religion  at  all,  in  which  case  you  would  not  be  interested 
in  Phillis's  doctrines. 

"  I  took  her  to  church  on  Sunday.  Before  the  service 
I  read  her  the  hymns  which  we  were  to  sing,  and  after 
she  had  criticised  the  words  in  a  manner  peculiarly  her 
own,  I  read  them  again,  and  she  knew  those  hymns.  I 
also  told  her  to  do  exactly  as  I  did  in  the  matter  of  upris- 
ing and  downsitting. 

"  One  or  two  things  I  forgot,  and  in  other  one  or  two 
she  made  little  mistakes.  It  is  usual,  Lawrence,  as  you 
may  remember,  for  worshippers  to  pray  in  silence  before 
sitting  down.  Phillis  was  looking  about  the  church,  and 
therefore  did  not  notice  my  performance  of  this  duty. 
Also  I  had  forgotten  to  tell  her  that  loud  speech  is  forbid- 
den by  custom  within  the  walls  of  a  church.  Therefore  it 
came  upon  me  with  a  shock  when  Phillis,  after  looking 
round  in  her  quick  eager  way,  turned  to  me  and  said  quite 
aloud,  *  This  is  a  curious  place  !  Some  of  it  is  pretty,  but 
some  is  hideous.* 

"  It  was  very  true,  because  the  church  has  a  half-a- 
dozen  styles,  but  the  speech  caused  a  little  consternation 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  203 

in  the  place.  I  think  the  beadle  would  have  turned  us 
out  had  he  recovered  his  presence  of  mind  in  time.  This 
he  did  not,  fortunately,  and  the  service  began. 

"  No  one  could  have  behaved  better  during  prayers 
than  Phillis.  She  knelt,  listening  to  every  word.  I  could 
have  wished  that  her  intensity  of  attitude  had  not  betrayed 
a  perfect  absence  of  familiarity  with  church  customs. 
During  the  psalms  she  began  by  listening  with  a  little 
pleasure  in  her  face.  Then  she  looked  a  little  bored;  and 
presently  she  whispered  to  me,  'Dear  Agatha,  I  really 
must  go  out  if  this  tune  is  not  changed.'  Fortunately  the 
psalms  were  not  long. 

"  She  liked  the  hymns,  and  made  no  remark  upon  them, 
except  that  one  of  the  choir-boys  was  singing  false,  and 
that  she  should  like  to  take  him  out  of  the  choir  herself, 
there  and  then.  It  was  quite  true,  and  I  really  feared  that 
her  sense  of  duty  might  actually  impel  her  to  take  the 
child  by  the  ear  and  lead  him  solemnly  out  of  the 
church. 

"  During  the  sermon,  I  regret  to  say  that  she  burst  out 
laughing.  You  know  Phillis's  laugh — a  pretty  rippling 
laugh,  without  any  malice  in  it.  Oh,  how  rare  a  sweet 
laugh  is  !  The  curate,  who  was  in  the  pulpit — a  very  nice 
young  man,  and  a  gentleman,  but  not,  I  must  own,  intel- 
lectual; and  I  hear  he  was  plucked  repeatedly  for  his  de- 
gree— stopped,  puzzled  and  indignant,  and  then  went  on 
with  his  discourse.  I  looked,  I  suppose,  so  horrified  that 
Phillis  saw  she  had  done  wrong,  aud  blushed.  There  were 
no  more  contretemps  in  the  church. 

"  *  My  dear  Agatha,*  she  explained,  when  we  came  out, 
*  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  have  laughed.  But  I  really 
could  not  help  it.  Did  you  notice  the  young  gentleman 
in  the  box  ?  He  was  trying  to  act,  but  he  spoke  the  words 
so  badly,  just  as  if  he  did  not  understand  them.  And  I 
laughed  without  thinking.  I  am  afraid  it  was  very  rude 
of  me.' 

"  I  tried  to  explain  things  to  her,  but  it  is  difficult,  be- 


204  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

cause  sometimes  you  do  not  quite  know  her  point  of 
view. 

"  Next  day  the  curate  called.  To  my  vexation  Phillis 
apologised.  Without  any  blushes  she  went  straight  to  the 
point. 

"  *  Forgive  me,'  she  said.  *  I  laughed  at  you  yesterday 
in  church;  I  am  very  sorry  for  it.' 

"  He  was  covered  with  confusion,  and  stammered  some- 
thing about  the  sacred  building. 

** '  But  I  never  was  in  a  church  before,'  she  went  on. 

"  *  That  is  very  dreadful !'  he  replied.  '  Mrs.  L'Estrange, 
do  you  not  think  it  is  a  very  dreadful  state  for  a  young 
lady  ?' 

"  Then  she  laughed  again,  but  without  apologising. 

"  *  Mr.  Dyson  used  to  say,'  she  explained  to  me,  *  that 
everybody's  church  is  in  his  own  heart.  He  never  went 
to  church,  and  he  did  not  consider  himself  in  a  dreadful 
state  at  all,  poor  dear  old  man  ?' 

"  If  she  can  fall  back  on  an  axiom  of  Mr.  Abraham 
Dyson's,  there  is  no  further  argument  possible. 

"  The  curate  went  away.  He  has  been  here  several 
times  since,  and  I  am  sure  that  I  am  not  the  attraction. 
We  have  had  one  or  two  little  afternoons  on  the  lawn,  and 
it  is  pretty  to  see  Phillis  trying  to  take  an  interest  in  this 
young  man.  She  listens  to  his  remarks,  but  they  fail  to 
strike  her;  she  answers  his  questions,  but  they  seem  to 
bore  her.  In  fact,  he  is  much  too  feeble  for  her;  she  has 
no  respect  for  the  cloth  at  all;  and  I  very  much  fear  that 
what  is  sport  to  her  is  going  to  be  death  to  him.  Of 
course,  Lawrence,  you  may  be  quite  sure  that  I  shall  not 
allow  Phillis  to  be  compromised  by  the  attentions  of  any 
young  man — yet.     Later  on  we  shall  ask  your  views. 

*'  Her  guardian  must  have  been  a  man  of  great  culture. 
He  has  taught  her  very  well,  and  everything.  She  aston  • 
ished  the  curate  yesterday  by  giving  him  a  little  historical 
essay  on  his  favourite  Laud.  He  understood  very  little  of 
it,  but  he  went  away  sorrowful.     I  could  rer.d  in  his  face 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  205 

a  determination  to  get  up  the  whole  subject,  come  back, 
and  have  it  out  with  Phillis.  But  she  shall  not  be  dragged 
into  an  argument,  if  I  can  prevent  it,  with  any  young  man. 
Nothing  more  easily  leads  to  entanglements,  and  we  must 
be  ambitious  for  our  Phillis. 

"  *  It  is  a  beautiful  thing  !'  she  said  the  other  day,  after 
I  had  been  talking  about  the  theory  of  public  worship — '  a 
beautiful  thing  for  the  people  to  come  together  every 
week  and  pray.  And  the  hymns  are  sweet,  though  I  can- 
not understand  why  they  keep  on  singing  the  same  tune, 
and  that  such  a  simple  thing  of  a  few  notes.' 

"  The  next  Sunday  1  had  a  headache,  and  Phillis  re- 
fused to  go  to  church  without  me.  She  spent  the  day 
drawing  on  the  bank  of  the  river. 

"Mrs.  Cassilis  has  been  to  call  upon  us.  Victoria  was  never 
a  great  friend  of  mine  when  she  was  young,  and  I  really 
like  her  less  now.  She  was  kind  to  Phillis,  and  proposed 
all  sorts  of  hospitalities,  which  we  escaped  for  the  present. 
I  quite  think  that  Phillis  should  be  kept  out  of  the  social 
whirl  for  a  few  months  longer. 

"  Victoria  looked  pale  and  anxious.  She  asked  after 
you  in  her  iciest  manner;  wished  to  know  where  you  were; 
said  that  you  were  once  one  of  her  friends;  and  hoped  to 
see  you  before  long.  She  is  cold  by  nature,  but  her  cold- 
ness was  assumed  here,  because  she  suddenly  lost  it.  I 
am  quite  sure,  Lawrence,  that  Victoria  Pengelley  was  once 
touched,  and  by  you.  There  must  have  been  something 
in  the  rumours  about  you  two,  four  years  ago.  Lazy  Law- 
rence !  It  is  a  good  thing  for  you  that  there  was  nothing 
more  than  rumour. 

"  We  were  talking  of  other  things  —  important 
things,  such  as  Phillis's  wardrobe,  which  wants  a 
great  many  additions  —  when  Victoria  a  propos  of 
nothing,  asked  me  if  you  were  changed  at  all. 
I  said  no,  except  that  you  were  more  confirmed 
in  laziness.  Then  Phillis  opened  her  portfolio,  where 
she    keeps    her    diary    after    her    own    fashion,    and 


2o6  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

showed  the  pencil  sketch  she  has  made  of  your  counte- 
nance. It  is  a  good  deal  better  than  any  photograph,  be- 
cause it  has  caught  your  disgraceful  indolence,  and  you 
stand  confessed  for  what  you  are.  How  the  girl  contrives 
to  put  the  real  person  into  her  portraits,  I  cannot  tell. 
Victoria  took  it,  and  her  face  suddenly  softened.  I  have 
seen  the  look  on  many  a  woman's  face.  I  look  for  it 
when  I  suspect  that  one  of  my  young  friends  has  dropped 
head  over  ears  in  love  ;  it  comes  into  her  eyes  when  young 
Orlando  enters  the  room,  and  then  I  know  and  act  accord- 
ingly. Poor  Victoria !  I  ought  not  to  have  told  you, 
Lawrence,  but  you  will  forget  what  I  said.  She  glanced 
at  the  portrait  and  changed  colour.  Then  she  asked 
Phillis  to  give  it  to  her.  *  You  can  easily  make  another,* 
she  said,  '  and  I  will  keep  this,  as  a  specimen  of  your  skill 
and  a  likeness  of  an  old  friend.' 

"  She  kept  it,  and  carried  it  away  with  her. 

"  I  have  heard  all  about  the  Coping-stone.  What  a 
curious  story  it  is  !  Phillis  talks  quite  gravely  of  the  irrep- 
arable injury  to  the  science  of  Female  Education  involved 
in  the  loss  of  that  precious  chapter.  Mr.  Jagenal  is  of 
opinion  that  without  it  the  Will  cannot  be  carried  out,  in 
which  case  Mr.  Cassilis  will  get  the  money,  I  sincerely 
hope  he  will.  I  am  one  of  those  who  dislike,  above  all 
things,  notoriety  for  women,  and  I  should  not  like  our 
Phillis's  education  and  its  results  made  the  subject  of 
lawyers'  wit  and  rhetoric  in  the  Court  of  Chancery.  Do 
you  know  Mr.  Gabriel  Cassilis  ?  He  is  said  to  be 
the  cleverest  man  in  London,  and  has  made  an  im- 
mense fortune.  I  hope  Victoria  is  happy  with  him. 
She  has  a  child,  but  does  not  talk  much  about  it. 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  teach  Phillis  to  read.  It  is  a 
slow  process,  but  the  poor  girl  is  very  patient.  How  we 
ever  managed  to  *  worry  through,'  as  the  Americans  say, 
with  such  a  troublesome  acquirement,  I  cannot  understand. 
We  spend  two  hours  a  day  over  the  task,  and  are  still  in 
words  of  one  syllable.    Needless  to  tell  you  that  the  lesson- 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  207 

book — 'First  Steps  in  Reading' — is  regarded  with  the 
most  profound  contempt,  and  is  already  covered  with  in- 
numerable drawings  in  pencil. 

"  Notes  in  music  are  easier.  Phillis  can  already  read  a 
little,  but  the  difficulty  here  is,  that  if  she  learns  the  air 
from  the  notes,  she  knows  it  once  for  all,  and  further  read- 
ing is  superfluous.  Now,  little  girls  have  as  much  diffi- 
culty in  playing  notes  as  in  spelling  them  out,  so  that  they 
have  to  be  perpetually  practising  the  art  of  reading.  I 
now  understand  why  people  who  teach  are  so  immeasur- 
ably conceited.  I  am  already  so  proud  of  my  superiority 
to  Phillis  in  being  able  to  read,  that  I  feel  my  moral  nature 
deteriorating.  At  least,  I  can  sympathise  with  all  school- 
masters, from  the  young  man  who  holds  his  certificated 
nose  high  in  the  air,  to  Dr.  Butler  of  Harrow,  who  sews  up 
the  pockets  of  his  young  gentlemen's  trousers. 

"  Are  you  tired  of  my  long  letter  ?  Only  a  few  words 
more. 

"  I  have  got  a  music  and  a  singing  master  for  Phillis. 
They  are  both  delighted  with  her  taste  and  musical  pow- 
ers. Her  voice  is  very  sweet,  though  not  strong.  She 
will  never  be  tempted  to  rival  professional  people,  and  will 
always  be  sure  to  please  when  she  sings. 

"  I  have  also  got  an  artist  to  give  her  a  few  lessons  in 
the  management  of  her  colours.  He  is  an  elderly  artist, 
with  a  wife  and  baims  of  his  own,  not  one  of  the 
young  gentlemen  who  wear  velvet  coats  and  want  to 
smoke  all  day. 

"  You  must  yourself  get  a  horse  for  her,  and  then  you 
can  come  over  and  ride  with  her.  At  present  she  is  happy 
in  the  contemplation  of  the  river,  which  exercises  an  ex- 
traordinary power  over  her  imagination.  She  is  now, 
while  I  write,  sitting  in  the  shade,  singing  to  herself 
in  solitude.  Beside  her  is  the  sketch-book,  but  she  is 
full  of  thought  and  happy  to  be  alone.  Lawrence,  she  is  a 
great  responsibility,  and  it  is  sad  to  think  that  the  Lesson 
she  most  requires  to  learn  is  the  Lesson  of  distrust.     She 


2o8  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

trusts  everybody,  and  when  anything  is  done  or  said  which 
would  arouse  distrust  in  ourselves,  she  only  gets  puz- 
zled and  thinks  of  her  own  ignorance.  Why  can- 
not we  leave  her  in  the  Paradise  of  the  Innocent, 
and  never  let  her  learn  that  every  stranger  is  a  possible 
villain?  Alas,  that  I  must  teach  her  this  lesson;  and  yet 
one  would  not  leave  her  to  find  it  out  by  painful  experi- 
ence !  My  dear  Lawrence,  I  once  read  that  it  was  the 
custom  in  savage  times  to  salute  the  stranger  with  clubs 
and  stones,  because  he  was  sure  to  be  an  enemy.  How 
far  have  we  advanced  in  all  these  years  ?  You  sent  Phillis 
to  me  for  teaching,  but  it  is  I  who  learned  from  her.  I  am 
a  worldly  woman,  cousin  Lawrence,  and  my  life  is  full  of 
hollow  shams.  Sometimes  I  think  that  the  world  would 
be  more  tolerable  were  all  the  women  as  illiterate  as  dear 
Phillis; 

**  Do  not  come  to  see  her  for  a  few  days  yet,  and  you 
will  find  her  changed  in  those  few  things  which  wanted 
change." 

Sitting  in  solitude  ?  Gazing  on  the  river  ?  Singing  to 
herself  ?  Phillis  was  quite  otherwise  occupied,  and  much 
more  pleasantly. 

She  had  been  doing  all  these  things,  with  much  con- 
tentment of  soul,  while  Agatha  was  writing  her  letters. 
She  sat  under  the  trees  upon  the  grass,  a  little  straw  hat 
upon  her  head,  letting  the  beauty  of  the  season  fill  her 
soul  with  happiness.  The  sunlit  river  rippled  at  her  feet; 
on  its  broad  surface  the  white  swans  lazily  floated  !  the 
soft  air  of  early  summer  fanned  her  cheek:  the  birds 
darted  across  the  water  as  if  in  ecstasy  of  joy  at  the  return 
of  the  sun — as  a  matter  of  fact  they  had  their  mouths  wide 
open  and  were  catching  flies;  a  lark  was  singing  in  the 
sky;  there  were  a  blackbird  and  a  thrush  somewhere  in  the 
wood  across  the  river:  away  up  the  stream  there  was  a 
fat  old  gentleman  sitting  in  a  punt;  he  held  an  umbrella 
over  his  head,  because  the  sun  was  hot,  and  he  supported 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  209 

a  fishing-rod  in  his  other  hand.  Presently  he  had  a  nibble, 
and  in  his  anxiety  he  stood  up  the  better  to  manoeuvre  his 
float;  it  was  only  a  nibble,  and  he  sat  down  again.  Un- 
fortunately he  miscalculated  the  position  of  the  chair,  and 
and  sat  upon  space,  so  that  he  fell  backwards  all  along  the 
punt.  Phillis  heard  the  bump  against  the  bottom  of  the 
boat,  and  saw  a  pair  of  fat  little  legs  sticking  up  in  the 
most  comical  manner;  she  laughed,  and  resolved  upon 
drawing  the  fat  old  gentleman's  accident  as  soon  as  she 
could  find  time. 

The  afternoon  was  very  still;  the  blackbird  carolled  in 
the  trees,  and  the  "wise  thrush"  repeated  his  cheerful 
philosophy;  the  river  ran  with  soft  whispers  along  the 
bank;  and  Phillis  began  to  look  before  her  with  eyes  that 
saw  not,  and  from  eyelids  that,  in  a  little,  would  close  in 
sleep. 

Then  something  else  happened. 

A  boat  came  suddenly  up  the  river,  close  to  her  own 
bank.  She  saw  the  bows  first,  naturally;  and  then  she 
saw  the  back  of  the  man  in  it.  Then  the  boat  revealed 
itself  in  full,  and  Phillis  saw  that  the  crew  consisted  of 
Jack  Dunquerque.  Her  heart  gave  a  great  leap,  and  she 
started  from  the  Sleepy  Hollow  of  her  thoughts  into  life. 

Jack  Dunquerque  was  not  an  ideal  oar,  such  as  one 
dreams  of  and  reads  about.  He  did  not  "  grasp  his  sculls 
with  the  precision  of  a  machine,  and  row  with  a  grand  long 
sweep  which  made  the  boat  spring  under  his  arms  like  a 
thing  of  life  " — I  quote  from  an  author  whose  name  I  have 
forgotten.  Quite  the  contrary;  Jack  was  rather  unskilful 
than  otherwise;  the  ship  in  which  he  was  embarked  was 
one  of  those  crank  craft  consisting  of  a  cedar  lath  with 
crossbars  of  iron;  it  was  a  boat  without  outriggers,  and  he 
had  hired  it  at  Richmond.  He  was  not  so  straight  in  the 
back  as  an  Oxford  stroke!  and  he  bucketed  about  a  good 
deal,  but  he  got  along. 

Just  as  he  was  nearing  Phillis  he  fell  into  difficulties,  in 
consequence  of  one  oar  catching  tight  in  the  weeds.    The 


210  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

effect  of  this  was,  as  may  be  imagined,  to  bring  her  bows 
on  straight  into  the  bank.  In  fact,  Jack  ran  the  ship 
ashore,  and  sat  with  the  bows  high  on  the  grass  just  a  few 
inches  off  Phillis's  feet.  Then  he  drew  himself  upright, 
tried  to  disentangle  the  oar,  and  began  to  think  what  he 
should  do  next. 

"  I  wish  I  hadn't  come,"  he  said  aloud. 

Phillis  laughed  silently. 

Then  she  noticed  the  painter  in  the  bows  though  she 
did  not  know  it  by  that  name.  Painters  in  London  boats 
are  sometimes  longish  ropes,  for  convenience  of  mooring. 
Phillis  noiselessly  lifted  the  cord  and  tied  it  fast  round  the 
trunk  of  a  small  elder-tree  beside  her.  Then  she  sat 
down  again  and  waited.  This  was  much  better  fun 
than  watching  an  elderly  gentleman  tumbling  backwards 
in  a  punt. 

Jack,  having  extricated  the  scull  and  rested  a  little, 
looked  at  his  palms,  which  were  blistering  under  the 
rough  exercise  of  rowing,  and  muttered  something  in- 
audible. Then  he  seized  the  oars  again  and  began  to 
back  out  vigorously. 

The  boat's  bows  descended  a  few  inches,  and  then,  the 
painter  being  taut,  moved  no  more. 

Phillis  leaned  forward,  watching  Jack  with  a  look  of 
rapturous  delight. 

"  Damn  the  ship  !  "  said  Jack  softly,  after  three  or  four 
minutes'  strenuous  backing. 

"  Don't  swear  at  the  boat,  Jack,"  Phillis  broke  in,  with 
her  low  laugh  and  musical  voice. 

Jack  looked  round.  There  was  his  goddess  standing  on 
the  bank,  clapping  her  hands  with  delight.  He  gave  a 
vigorous  pull,  which  drove  the  boat  half-way  up  to  shore 
and  sprang  out. 

"  Jack,  you  must  not  use  words  that  sound  bad.  Oh, 
how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  I  think  you  look  best  in  flan- 
nels. Jack." 

"  You  here,  Phil  ?     I  thought  it  w^?  ^  wile  higher  up." 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  211 

"  Did  you  know  where  I  was  gone  to  ? 
"  Yes,  I  found  out.  I  asked  Colquhoun,  and  he  told 
me.  But  he  did  not  offer  to  introduce  me  to  Mrs. 
L'Estrange  ;  and  so  I  thought  I  would — I  thought  that 
perhaps  if  rowed  up  the  river,  you  know,  I  might  per- 
haps see  you." 

"  O  Jack,"  she  replied,  touched  by  this  act  of  friendship, 
"  did  you  really  row  up  in  the  hope  of  seeing  me  ?  I  am 
so  glad.  Will  you  come  in  and  be  introduced  to  Agatha, 
— that  is,  Mrs.  L'Estrange  ?  I  have  not  yet  told  her 
about  you,  because  we  had  so  many  things  to  say." 

"  Let  us  sit  down  and  talk  a  little  first.  Phil,  you  look 
even  better  than  when  you  were  at  Carnarvon  Square. 
Tell  me  what  you  are  doing." 

"  I  am  learning  to  read  for  one  thing ;  and.  Jack,  a 
much  more  important  thing,  I  am  taking  lessons  in  water- 
colour  drawing.  I  have  learned  a  great  deal  already, 
quite  enough  to  show  me  how  ignorant  I  have  been.  But, 
Jack,  Mr.  Stencil  cannot  draw  so  well  as  I  can,  and  I  am 
glad  to  think  so." 

"  When  shall  we  be  able  to  go  out  again  for  another 
visit  somewhere,  Phil  ?  " 

"  Ah,  I  do  not  know.  We  shall  stay  here  all  the  sum- 
mer, I  am  sure  ;  and  Agatha  talks  of  going  to  the  sea- 
side in  the  autumn.  I  do  not  think  I  shall  like  the  sea  so 
much  as  I  like  the  river,  but  I  want  to  see  it.  Jack,  how 
is  Mr.  Gilead  Beck  ?  have  you  seen  him  lately  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  very  often  see  him.  We  are  great  friends. 
But  never  mind  him,  Phil  ;  go  on  telling  me  about  your- 
self.    It  is  a  whole  fortnight  since  I  saw  you." 

"  Is  it  really  ?  O  Jack  !  and  we  two  promised  to  be 
friends.  There  is  pretty  friendship  for  you  !  I  am  very 
happy,  Jack.  Agatha  L'Estrange  is  so  kind  that  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  I  love  her.  Lawrence  Colquhoun  is  her  first 
cousin.  I  like  my  guardian,  too,  very  much  ;  but  I  have 
not  yet  found  out  how  to  talk  to  him.  I  am  to  have  a 
horse  as  soon  as  he  can  find  me  one  ;  and  then  we  shall 


212  THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

be  able  to  ride  together,  Jack,  if  it  is  not  too  far  for  you 
to  come  out  here." 

«  Too  far,  Phil  ?  " 

"  Agatha  is  writing  letters.  Certainly  it  must  be  pleas- 
ant to  talk  to  your  friends  when  they  are  away  from  you. 
I  shall  learn  to  write  as  fast  as  I  can,  and  then  we  will  send 
letters  to  each  other.  I  wonder  if  she  would  mind  being 
disturbed.     Perhaps  I  had  better  not  take  you  in  just  yet." 

"  Will  you  come  for  a  row  with  me,  Phil  ?" 

"  In  the  boat.  Jack  ?  on  the  river  ?  Oh,  if  you  will  only 
take  me  !" 

Jack  untied  the  painter,  pulled  the  ship's  head  round, 
and  laid  her  alongside  the  bank. 

"  You  will  promise  to  sit  perfectly  still,  and  not  move  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will  not  move.     Are  you  afraid  for  me  Jack  ?" 

"  A  little,  Phil.  You  see,  if  we  were  to  upset,  perhaps 
you  would  not  trust  yourself  entirely  to  me." 

"  Yes,  I  would.  Jack.  I  am  sure  you  would  bring  me 
safe  to  the  bank." 

"  But  we  must  not  upset.     Now,  Phil." 

He  rowed  her  upstream.  She  sat  in  the  stern,  and  en- 
joyed the  situation.  As  in  every  fresh  experience,  she  was 
silent,  drinking  in  the  details.  She  watched  the  trans- 
parent water  beneath  her,  and  saw  the  yellow-green  weeds 
sloping  gently  downwards  with  the  current;  she  noticed 
the  swans,  which  looked  so  tranquil  from  the  bank,  and 
which  now  followed  the  boat,  gobbling  angrily.  They 
passed  the  old  gentleman  in  the  punt.  He  had  recovered 
his  chair  by  this  time,  and  was  sitting  in  it,  still  fishing. 
But  Phillis  could  not  see  that  he  had  caught  many  fish. 
He  looked  from  under  his  umbrella  and  saw  them. 
"  Youth  and  beauty  !"  he  sighed. 

"  I  like  to  feel  the  river,"  said  Phillis,  softly.  "  It  is 
pleasant  on  the  bank,  but  it  is  so  much  sweeter  here.  Can 
there  be  anything  in  the  world,"  she  murmured  half  to 
herself,  "  more  pleasant  than  to  be  rowed  along  the  river 
on  such  a  day  as  this  ?" 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  213 

There  was  no  one  on  the  river  except  themselves  and 
the  old  angler.  Jack  rowed  up  stream  for  half  a  mile  or 
so,  and  then  turned  her  head  and  let  her  drift  gently  down 
with  the  current,  occasionally  dipping  the  oars  to  keep 
way  on.     But  he  left  the  girl  to  her  own  thoughts. 

"  It  is  all  like  a  dream  to  me,  this  river,"  said  Phillis,  in 
a  low  voice.  "  It  comes  from  some  unknown  place,  and 
goes  to  some  unknown  place." 

"  It  is  like  life,  Phil. 

"Yes;  we  come  like  the  river,  trailing  long  glories  be- 
hind us — you  know  what  Wordsworth  says — but  we  do 
not  go  to  be  swallowed  up  in  the  ocean,  and  we  are  not 
alone.  We  have  those  that  love  us  to  be  with  us,  and 
prevent  us  from  getting  sad  with  thought.  I  have  you. 
Jack." 

"Yes,  Phil."  He  could  not  meet  her  face,  which  was 
so  full  of  unselfish  and  passionless  affection,  because  his 
own  eyes  were  brimming  over  with  passion. 

"  Take  me  in.  Jack,"  she  said,  when  they  reached 
Agatha's  lawn.     "  It  is  enough  for  one  day." 

She  led  him  to  the  morning-room,  cool  and  sheltered, 
where  Agatha  was  writing  the  letter  we  have  already  read. 
And  she  introduced  him  as  Jack  Dunquerque,  her  friend. 

Jack  explained  that  he  was  rowing  up  the  river,  that  he 
saw  Miss  Fleming  by  accident,  that  he  had  taken  her  for 
a  row  up  the  stream,  and  so  on — all  in  due  form. 

"  Jack  and  I  are  old  friends,  said  Phillis. 

Agatha  did  not  ask  how  old,  which  was  fortunate.  But 
she  put  aside  her  letters  and  sent  for  tea  into  the  garden. 
Jack  became  more  amiable  and  more  sympathetic  than  any 
young  man  Mrs.  L'Estrange  had  ever  known.  So  much 
did  he  win  upon  her  that,  having  ascertained  that  he  was 
a  friend  of  Lawrence  Colquhoun,  she  asked  him  to  dinner. 

Jack's  voyage  homeward  was  a  joyful  one.  Many  is  the 
journey  begun  in  joy  that  ends  in  sorrow;  few  are  those 
which  begin,  as  Jack's  bucketing  up  the  river,  in  uncer- 
tainty, and  end  in  unexpected  happiness. 


214  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 


CH ALTER    XVI. 

"  Souvent  femme  varie, 
Bien  foi  qui  s'y  fle." 

LAWRENCE  COLQUHOUN  was  not,  in  point  of 
fact,  devoting  much  time  to  his  ward  at  this  time. 
She  was  pretty;  she  was  fresh;  she  was  unconventional; 
but  then  he  was  forty.  For  twenty  years  he  had  been 
moving  through  a  panorama  of  pretty  girls.  It  was  hardly 
to  be  expected  that  a  girl  whom  he  had  seen  but  once  or 
twice  should  move  a  tough  old  heart  of  forty.  Phillis 
pleased  him,  but  lazy  Lawrence  wanted  girls,  if  that  could 
be  managed,  to  come  to  him,  and  she  necessarily  stayed 
at  Twickenham.  Anyhow,  she  was  in  good  and 
safe  hands.  It  was  enough  to  know  that  Agatha 
had  her  in  safe  charge  and  custody,  and  when  he 
could  find  time  he  would  go  down  and  see  her  again.  As 
he  had  been  thirteen  years  trying  to  find  time  to  visit 
Phillis  at  Highgate,  it  was  possible  that  he  might  be  in  the 
same  way  prevented  by  adverse  circumstances  from  going 
to  Twickenham. 

He  was  troubled  also  by  other  and  jjraver  matters. 

Victoria  Cassilis  asked  him  in  the  Park  to  call  upon  her 
— for  auld  lang  syne.  What  he  replied  is  not  on  record, 
because,  if  anybody  heard,  it  could  only  have  been  the 
lady.  But  he  did  not  call  upon  her.  After  a  day  or  two 
there  came  a  letter  from  her.  Of  this  he  took  no  notice. 
It  is  not  usual  for  a  man  to  ignore  the  receipt  from  a 
lady,  but  Lawrence  Colquhoun  did  do  so.  Then  there 
came  another.  This  also  he  tore  in  small  pieces.  And 
then  another.  "  Hang  the  woman,"  said  Lawrence  ;  "  I 
believe  she  wants  to  have  a  row.  I  begin  to  be  sorry  I 
came  home  at  all." 

His  chambers  were  on  the  second  floor  in  the  Albany, 
and  any  one  who  knows  Lawrence  Colquhoun  will  under- 
stand that  they  were   furnished   in   considerable  comfort, 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  2l5 

and  even  luxury.  He  did  not  pretend  to  a  knowledge  of 
Art,  but  his  pictures  were  good  ;  nor  was  he  a  dilettante 
about  furniture,  but  his  was  in  good  style.  China  he  ab- 
horred, like  many  other  persons  of  sound  and  healthy 
taste.  Let  us  leave  a  loophole  of  escape  ;  there  may  be 
some  occult  reason,  unknown  to  the  uninitiated,  for  find- 
ing beauty,  loveliness,  and  desirability  in  hideous  china 
monsters  and  porcelain.  After  all  we  are  but  a  flock,  and 
follow  the  leader.  Why  should  we  not  go  mad  for  china? 
It  is  as  sensible  as  going  mad  over  rinking.  Why  should 
we  not  buy  water-colours  at  fabulous  prices?  At  least 
these  can  be  sold  again  for  something,  whereas  books — an 
extinct  form  of  madness — cannot  ;  and  besides,  present 
their  backs  in  a  mute  appeal  to  be  read. 

The  rooms  of  a  man  with  whom  comfort  is  the  first 
thing  aimed  at.  The  chairs  are  low,  deep,  and  comfor- 
table ;  there  are  brackets ,  tiny  tables,  and  all  sorts  of  ap- 
pliances for  saving  trouble  and  exertion  ;  the  curtains  are 
of  the  right  shade  for  softening  the  light  ;  the  pictures  are 
of  subjects  which  soothe  the  mind  ;  the  books,  if  you  look 
at  them,  are  books  of  travel  and  novels.  The  place  is 
exactly  such  a  home  as  lazy  Lawrence  would  choose. 

And  yet  when  we  saw  his  laziness  in  the  Prologue,  he 
was  living  alone  in  a  deserted  city,  among  the  bare  wooden 
walls  of  a  half-ruined  hotel.  But  Lawrence  was  not  then 
at  home.  He  took  what  comfort  he  could  get,  even  there; 
and  while  he  indulged  his  whim  for  solitude,  impressed 
into  his  own  service  for  his  own  comfort  the  two  China- 
men who  constituted  with  him  the  population  of  Empire 
City. 

But  at  Empire  City  he  was  all  day  shooting.  That 
makes  a  difference  to  the  laziest  of  men.  And  he  would 
not  have  stayed  there  so  long  had  he  not  been  too  lazy  to 
go  away.  If  a  man  does  not  mind  lonely  evenings,  the  air 
on  the  lower  slope  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  is  pleasant  and 
the  game  is  .  abundant.  Now,  however,  he  was  back  in 
London,  where   the   laziest   men    live   beside  the  busiest. 


2l6  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

The  sun  streamed  in  at  his  windows,  which  were  bright 
with  flowers  ;  and  he  sat  in  the  shade  doing  nothing. 
Restless  men  take  cigars ;  men  who  find  their  own 
thoughts  insufficient  for  the  passing  hour  take  books;  men 
who  cannot  sit  still  walk  about,  Lawrence  Colquhoun 
simply  lay  back  in  an  easy-chair,  watching  the  sunlight 
upon  the  flowers  with  lazy  eyes.  He  had  the  gift  of  pas- 
sive aud  happy  idleness. 

To  him  there  came  a  visitor — a  woman  whom  he  did 
not  know. 

She  was  a  woman  about  thirty  years  of  age,  a  hard- 
featured,  sallow-faced  woman.  She  looked  in  Lawrence's 
face  with  a  grim  curiosity  as  she  walked  across  the  room 
and  handed  him  a  letter. 

"  From  Mrs.  Cassilis,  sir." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Lawrence.     "And  you  are  "— — 

"  I  am  her  maid,  sir." 

"  Where  is  Janet,  then  ?" 

"  Janet  is  dead.  She  died  three  years  ago,  before  Mrs. 
Cassilis  married." 

"  Oh,  Janet  is  dead,  is  she  ?  Ah,  that  accounts — I  mean, 
where  did  Janet  die  ?" 

'*  In  lodgings  at  Ventnor,  sir.  Mrs.  Cassilis — Miss  Pen- 
gelley  she  was  then,  as  you  know,  sir," — Lawrence  looked 
up  sharply,  but  there  was  no  change  in  the  woman's  im- 
passive face  as  she  spoke, — "  Miss  Pengelley  sent  me 
with  her,  and  Janet  died  in  my  arms,  sir,  of  consump- 
tion." 

"  Ah,  I  am  sorry  !  And  so  Mrs.  Cassilis  has  sent  you 
to  me  with  this  letter,  has  she  ?"  He  did  not  open  it. 
"  Will  you  tell  Mrs.  Cassilis  that  I  will  send  an  answer  by 
post,  if  there  is  any  answer  required  ?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir;  but  Mrs.  Cassilis  told  me  ex- 
pressly that  if  you  were  in  town  I  was  to  wait  for  an  an- 
swer, if  I  had  to  wait  all  day." 

'•  In  that  case  I  suppose  I  had  better  read  the  letter." 

He  opened  it,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  contents  were  not 


i 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  217 

pleasant,  because  he  rose  from  his  chair  and  began  to 
walk  about.  The  sallow-faced  woman  watched  him  all 
the  time,  as  one  who  has  fired  a  shot,  and  wishes  to  know 
whether  it  has  struck,  and  where. 

He  held  the  letter  in  his  left  hand,  and  with  his  right 
moved  and  altered  the  position  of  things  on  the  mantel- 
shelf, a  sign  of  mental  agitation.  Then  he  turned  round 
brusquely  and  said  : 

"  Tell  your  mistress  that  I  will  call  upon  her  in  the 
afternoon." 

"  Will  you  write  that,  sir  ?" 

"  No,  I  will  not,"  he  replied  fiercely.  "  Take  your 
answer  and  begone." 

She  went  without  a  word. 

"  There  will  be  trouble,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  Janet 
said  it  would  all  come  up  again  some  day.  He's  a  hand- 
some chap,  and  missus  is  a  fool.  She's  worse  than  a  fool; 
she's  a  hard-hearted  creature,  with  no  more  blood  than  a 
stone  statue.  If  there's  to  be  trouble,  it  won't  fall  on  his 
head,  but  on  hern.  And  if  I  was  him,  I'd  go  away  again 
quiet,  and  then  maybe  no  one  wouldn't  find  it  out.  As 
for  her,  she'll  blow  on  it  herself." 

Lawrence's  thoughts  assumed  a  form  something  like  the 
following : 

"  Three  notes  from  her  in  rapid  succession,  each  one 
more  vehement  than  the  first.  She  must  see  me;  she  in- 
sists on  my  calling  on  her;  she  will  see  me;  she  has  some- 
thing important  to  tell  me.  It's  a  marvellous  thing,  and 
great  proof  of  the  absence  of  the  inventive  faculty  in  all 
of  them,  that  when  they  want  to  see  you  they  invariably 
pretend  that  they  have  something  important  to  tell  you. 
From  the  duchess  to  the  nursemaid,  by  Jove,  they  are  all 
alike  !  And  now  she  is  coming  here  unless  I  call  upon 
her  to-day. 

"  It  won't  do  to  let  her  come  here.  I  might  go  down 
to  the  seaside,  go  into  the  country,  go  anywhere,  back  to 
America;  but  what  would  be  the  good  of  that  ?    Besides, 


2l8  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

why  should  I  run  away  ?" 

"  I  have  not  done  anything  to  be  afraid  of  or  ashamed 
of,  unless  a  knowledge  of  a  thing  is  guilt.  I  have  nothing 
to  fear  for  myself.  Remains  the  question,  Ought  I  not  to 
screen  her  ? 

**  But  screen  her  from  whom  ?  No  one  knows  except 
Janet,  and  Janet  is  dead.  Perhaps  that  woman  with  a 
face  like  a  horse  knows;  that  would  be  awkward  for  Vic- 
toria if  she  were  to  offend  her,  for  a  more  damned  unfor- 
giving countenance  I  never  set  eyes  upon.  But  Janet 
was  faithful;  I  am  sure  Janet  would  not  split  even  when 
she  was  dying.  And  then  there  was  very  little  to  split 
about  when  she  died.  Victoria  hadn't  married  Mr.  Cas- 
silis. 

•*  What  the  deuce  does  she  want  to  rake  up  old  things 
for  ?  Why  can't  she  let  things  be  ?  It's  the  way  of 
women.  They  can't  forget;  and  hang  me  if  I  don't  think 
she  can't  forgive  me  because  she  has  done  me  a  wrong  ! 
Why  did  I  come  back  from  Empire  City  !  There,  at  all 
events,  one  could  be  safe  from  annoyance. 

"  On  a  day  like  this,  too,  the  first  really  fine  day  of  the 
season;  and  it's  spoiled.  I  might  have  dined  with  cousin 
Agatha  and  talked  to  Phillis — the  pretty  little  Phillis  !  I 
might  have  mooned  away  the  afternoon  in  the  Park  and 
dined  at  the  Club.  I  might  have  gone  to  half-a-dozen 
places  in  the  evening.  I  might  have  gone  to  Greenwich 
and  renewed  my  youth  at  the  Ship.  I  might  have  gone 
to  Richmond  with  old  Evergreen  and  his  party.  But  Phillis 
for  choice.  But  now  I  must  have  it  out  with  Victoria  Cas- 
silis.  There's  a  fate  in  it.  We  can't  be  allowed  to  rest 
and  be  happy.  Like  the  schoolboy's  scrag-end  of  the 
rolly-polly  pudding,  it  is  helped,  and  must  be  eaten." 

Philosophy  brings  resignation,  but  it  does  not  bring 
ease  of  mind.  Those  unfortunate  gentlemen  who  used  to 
be  laid  upon  the  wheel  and  have  their  limbs  broken  might 
have  contemplated  the  approach  of  inevitable  suffering 
with  resignation,  but  never  with   happiness.     In  Colqu- 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  219 

houn's  mind,  Victoria  Cassilis  was  associated  with  a  dis- 
agreeable and  painful  chapter  in  his  life.  He  saw  her 
marriage  in  the  fragment  of  Ladd's  paper,  and  thought 
the  chapter  closed.  He  came  home  and  found  her  wait- 
ing for  him  ready  to  open  it  again. 

"  I  did  think,"  he  said,  turning  over  her  letter  in  his 
fingers,  "  that  for  her  own  sake,  she  would  have  let  things 
be  forgotten.  It's  ruin  for  her  if  the  truth  comes  out,  and 
not  pleasant  for  me,  A  pretty  fool  I  should  look  explain- 
ing matters  in  a  witness-box.  But  I  must  see  her,  if  only 
to  bring  her  to  reason.  Reason  ?  When  was  a  woman 
reasonable  ?" 

"  I  am  here,"  he  said,  standing  before  Mrs.  CassiUs  at 
her  own  house  a  few  hours  later.     •*  I  am  here." 

Athos,  Parthos,  Arimis,  and  D'Artagnan  would  have 
said  exactly  the  same  thing. 

"  Me  void  !" 

And  they  would  have  folded  their  arms  and  thrown 
back  their  heads  with  a  preliminary  tap  at  the  sword-hilt, 
to  make  sure  that  the  trusty  blade  was  loose  in  the  scab- 
bard and  easy  to  draw,  in  case  M.  le  Mari — whom  the 
old  French  allegorists  called  Danger — should  suddenly 
appear. 

But  Lawrence  Colquhoun  said  it  quite  meekly,  to  a 
woman  who  neither  held  out  her  hand  nor  rose  to  meet 
him,  nor  looked  him  in  the  face,  but  sat  in  her  chair  with 
bowed  head  and  weeping  eyes. 

A  woman  of  steel  ?    There  are  no  women  of  steel. 

It  was  in  Mrs.  Cassilis's  morning-room,  an  apartment 
sacred  to  herself;  she  used  it  for  letter-writing,  for  inter- 
views with  dressmakers,  for  tea  with  ladies,  for  all  sorts  of 
things.  And  now  she  received  her  old  friend  in  it.  But 
why  was  she  crying,  and  why  did  she  not  look  up  ? 

"  I  did  want  to  see  you,  Lawrence,"  she  murmured 
"  Can  you  not  understand  why  ?" 

"  My  name  is  Colquhoun,  Mrs.  Cassilis.  And  I  cannot 
understand  why  " 


220  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  My  name,  Lawrence,  is  Victoria.  Have  you  forgotten 
that  ?" 

*'  I  have  forgotten  everything,  Mrs.  Cassilis.  It  is  best 
to  forget  everything." 

"  But  if  you  cannot !  O  Lawrence  !"  she  looked  up  in 
his  face — "  O  Lawrence,  if  you  cannct !" 

Her  weeping  eyes,  her  tear-clouded  face,  her  piteous 
gesture,  moved  the  man  not  one  whit.  The  power  which 
she  might  once  have  had  over  him  was  gone. 

"  This  is  mere  foolishness,  Mrs.  Cassilis.  As  a  stranger, 
a  perfect  stranger,  may  I  ask  why  you  call  me  by  my 
Christian  name,  and  why  these  tears  ?" 

"  Strangers  !  it  is  ridiculous  !"  she  cried,  starting  up 
and  standing  before  him.  *'  It  is  ridiculous,  when  all  the 
world  knows  that  we  were  once  friends,  and  half  the 
world  thought  that  we  were  going  to  be  something — 
nearer." 

"  Nearer — and  dearer,  Mrs.  Cassillis .''  What  a  foolish 
world  it  was  !  Suppose  we  had  become  nearer,  and  there- 
fore very  much  less  dear." 

"  Be  kind  to  me,  Lawrence." 

"  I  will  be  whatever  you  like,  Mrs.  Cassilis — except 
what  I  was — provided  you  do  not  call  me  Lawrence  any 
more.  Come,  let  us  be  reasonable.  The  past  is  gone;  in 
deference  to  your  wishes  I  removed  myself  from  the  scene; 
I  went  abroad;  I  transported  myself  for  four  years;  then 
I  saw  the  announcement  of  your  marriage  in  the  paper  by 
accident.  And  I  came  home  again,  because  of  your  own- 
free  will  and  accord  you  had  given  me  my  release.  Is 
this  true  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  replied. 

"  Then,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  why  seek  to  revive  the 
past  ?  Believe  me,  I  have  forgotten  the  few  days  of  mad- 
ness and  repentance.  They  are  gone.  Some  ghosts  of 
the  past  come  to  me,  but  they  do  not  take  the  shape  of 
Victoria  Pengelley." 

"  Suppose  we  cannot  forget  ?" 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  221 

"  Then  we  must  forget.  Victoria — Mrs.  Cassilis,  rouse 
yourself.  Think  of  what  you  are — what  you  have  made 
yourself." 

"  I  do  think.     I  think  every  day." 

"  You  have  a  husband  and  a  child  ;  you  have  your 
position  in  the  world.  Mrs.  Cassilis,  you  have  your 
honour." 

"  My  honour  !"  she  echoed.  "  What  honour  ?  And 
if  all  were  known  !     Lawrence,  don't  you  even  pity  me  ? " 

"  What  is  the  good  of  pity  ?"  he  asked  rudely.  "  Pity 
cannot  alter  things.  Pity  cannot  make  things  which  are 
as  if  they  are  not.  You  seem  to  me  to  have  done  what 
you  have  done  knowing  well  what  you  were  doing,  and 
knowing  what  you  were  going  to  get  by  it.  You  have  got 
one  of  the  very  best  houses  in  London  ;  you  have  got  a 
rich  husband  ;  you  have  got  an  excellent  position  ;  and 
you  have  got — Mrs.  Cassilis,  you  have  got  a  child,  whose 
future  happiness  depends  upon  your  reticence." 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  besides,"  she  burst  in, 
with  passion.  "  I  have  the  most  intolerable  husband, 
the  most  maddening  and  exasperating  man  in  all  the 
world  !" 

"  Is  he  cruel  to  you  ?" 

"  No;  he  is  kind  to  me.  If  he  were  cruel  I  should  know 
how  to  treat  him.     But  he  is  kind." 

"  Heroics,  Mrs.  Cassilis.  Most  women  could  very  well 
endure  a  kind  husband.  Are  you  not  overdoing  it  ?  You 
almost  make  me  remember  a  scene — call  it  a  dream — which 
took  place  in  a  certain  Glasgow  hotel  about  four  years  and 
a  half  ago." 

"  In  the  City  he  is  the  greatest  financier  living,  I  am 
told.     In  the  house  he  is  the  King  of  Littleness." 

"  I  think  there  was — or  is — a  bishop,"  said  Lawrence 
meditatively,  "  who  gave  his  gigantic  intellect  to  a  Treatise 
on  the  Sinfulness  of  Little  Sins.  Perhaps  you  had  better 
buy  that  work  and  study  it.  Or  present  it  to  your 
husband," 


222  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  Very  well,  Lawrence.  I  suppose  you  think  you  have 
a  right  to  laugh  at  me  ?" 

"  Right !  Good  God,  Mrs.  Cassilis,"  he  cried,  in  the 
greatest  alarm,  "  do  you  think  I  claim  any  right — the 
smallest — over  you  ?  If  I  ever  had  a  right  it  is  gone 
now — gone,  by  your  own  act,  and  my  silence.'' 

"  Yes,  Lawrence,"  she  repeated,  with  a  hard  smile  on 
her  lips,  "your  silence." 

He  understood  what  she  meant.  He  turned  from  her 
and  leaned  against  the  window,  looking  into  the  shrubs 
and  laurels.     She  had  dealt  him  a  blow  which  took  effect. 

"  My  silence  !"  he  murmured  ;  "  my  silence  !  What 
have  I  to  do  with  your  life  since  that  day — that  day  which 
even  you  would  find  it  difficult  to  forget  ?  Do  what  you 
like,  marry  if  you  like,  be  as  happy  as  you  like,  or  as  mis- 
erable— what  does  it  matter  to  me  ?  My  silence  !  Am  I, 
then,  going  to  proclaim  to  the  world  my  folly  and  your 
shame  ? " 

"  Let  us  not  quarrel,"  she  went  on,  pleased  with  the 
effect  of  her  words.  There  are  women  who  would  rather 
stab  a  man  in  the  heart,  and  so  make  some  impression  on 
him,  than  to  see  him  cold  and  callous  to  what  they  say  or 
think.  "  It  is  foolish  to  quarrel  after  four  years  and  more 
of  absence." 

"Absence  makes  the  heart  grow  fonder,"  said  Lawrence. 
"  Yes,  Mrs.  Cassilis,  it  is  foolish  to  quarrel.  Still  I  sup- 
pose it  is  old  habit.     And  besides  " 

"  When  a  man  has  nothing  else  to  say,  he  sneers." 

"  When  a  woman  has  nothing  else  to  say,  she  makes  a 
general  statement." 

"  At  all  events,  Lawrence,  you  are  unchanged  since  I 
left  you  at  that  hotel  to  which  you  refer  so  often.  Are  its 
memories  pleasing  to  you  ?" 

"  No  ;  they  are  not.  Are  they  to  you  ?  Come,  Mrs. 
Cassilis,  this  is  foolish.  You  told  me  you  had  something 
to  say  to  me.     What  is  it  ?" 

**  I  wanted  to  say  this.    When  we  parted  " 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  223 

"  Oh,  hang  it  !"  cried  the  man,  "  why  go  back  to  that  ?" 

"  When  we  two  parted  " — she  set  her  thin  Hps  together 
as  if  she  was  determined  to  let  him  off  no  single  word — 
"  you  used  bitter  words.  You  told  me  that  I  was  heart- 
less, cold,  and  bad-tempered.  Those  were  the  words  you 
used." 

"  By  Gad,  I  believe  they  were  !  "  said  Lawrence.  "  We 
had  a  blazing  row  ;  and  Janet  stood  by  with  her  calm 
Scotch  face,  and,  '  Eh,  sir  !  Eh,  madam  ! '  I  remem- 
ber." 

*'  I  might  retaliate  on  you." 

"You  did  then,  Mrs.  Cassilis.  You  let  me  have 
it  in  a  very  superior  style.  No  need  to  retaliate  any 
more." 

"  I  might  tell  you  now  that  you  are  heartless  and  cold. 
I  might  tell  you  " 

"  It  seems  that  you  are  telling  me  all  this  without  any 
use  of  the  potential  mood." 

"  That  if  you  have  any  lingering  kindness  for  me,  even 
if  you  have  any  resentment  for  my  conduct,  you  would 
pity  the  lonely  and  companionless  life  I  lead." 

•*  Your  son  is  nearly  a  year  old,  I  believe  ?" 

"  What  is  a  baby  ? " 

"  Lawrence  thought  the  remark  wanting  in  maternal 
feeling  ;  but  he  said  nothing, 

"  Come,  Mrs.  Cassilis,  it  is  all  no  use.  I  cannot  help 
you.  I  would  not  if  I  could.  Hang  it  !  it  would  be  too 
ridiculous  for  me  to  interfere.  Think  of  the  situation. 
Here  we  are,  we  three  ;  I  first,  you  in  the  middle, 
and  Mr.  Cassilis  third.  You  and  I  know,  and  he 
does  not  suspect  On  the  stage,  the  man  who  does 
not  suspect  always  looks  a  fool.  No  French  novel  comes 
anywhere  near  this  position  of  things.  Make  yourself 
miserable  if  you  like,  and  make  me  uncomfortable  ;  but 
for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  make  us  all  ridiculous  !  As 
things  are,  so  you  made  them.  Tell  me — what  did  you  do 
it  for  ? 


224  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"  Speak  to  me  kindly,  Lawrence,  and  I  will  tell  you  all. 
After  that  dreadful  day  I  went  back  to  the  old  life,  Janet 
and  I  made  up  something — never  mind  what.  Janet  was 
as  secret  as  the  grave.  The  old  life — Oh,  how  stupid  and 
dull  it  was  !  Two  years  passed  away.  You  were  gone^ 
never  to  return,  as  you  said.  Janet  died.  And  Mr.  Cassilis 
came." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Well,  I  was  poor.  With  my  little  income  I  had  to  live 
with  friends,  and  be  polite  to  people  I  detested.  I  saw 
a  chance  for  freedom  ;  Mr.  Cassilis  offered  me  that, 
&t  least.  And  I  accepted  him.  Say  you  forgive  me, 
Lawrence." 

"  Forgive  !     What  a  thing  to  ask  or  to  say  !" 

"  It  was  a  grievous  mistake.  I  wanted  a  man  who  could 
feel  with  me  and  appreciate  me." 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  I  know.  Appreciation — apprecia- 
tion. Perhaps  you  got  it,  and  at  a  truer  estimate  than  you 
thought.  I  have  sometimes  found,  Mrs.  Cassilis,  in  the 
course  of  my  travels,  people  who  make  themselves  miser- 
able because  others  do  not  understand  their  own  ideals. 
If  these  people  could  only  label  themselves  with  a  few 
simple  descriptive  sentences, — such  as  *  I  am  good  ;  I  am 
great ;  I  am  full  of  lofty  thoughts  ;  I  am  noble  ;  I  am 
wise  ;  I  am  too  holy  for  this  world  ;  *  and  so  on, —  a  good 
deal  of  unhappiness  might  be  saved.  Perhaps  you  might 
even  now  try  on  this  method  with  Mr.  Cassilis." 

"  Cold  and  sneering,"  she  said  to  herself,  folding  her 
hands,  and  laying  her  arms  straight  out  before  her  in  her 
lap.  If  you  think  of  it,  this  is  a  most  effective  attitude, 
provided  that  the  head  be  held  well  back  and  a  little  to 
the  side. 

"  What  astonishes  me,"  he  said,  taking  no  notice  of  her 
remark,  "  is  that  you  do  not  at  all  seem  to  realise  the 
Thing  you  have  done.     Do  you  ?" 

"  It  is  no  use  realising  what  cannot  be  found  out.  Janet 
is  in   her  grave.      Lawrence   Colquhoun,  the  most  sel- 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  225 

fish  and  heartless  of  men,  is  quite  certain  to  hold  his 
tongue." 

He  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"  Very  well,  Mrs.  Cassilis,  very  well.  If  you  are  satis- 
fied, of  course  no  one  has  the  right  to  say  a  word.  After 
all,  no  one  has  any  cause  to  fear  except  yourself.  For  me, 
I  certainly  hold  my  tongue.  It  would  be  all  so  beautifully 
explained  by  Serjeant  Smoothtongue  :  '  Six  years  ago, 
gentlemen  of  the  j  ury ,  a  man  no  longer  in  the  bloom  of  early 
youth  was  angled  for  and  hooked  by  a  lady  who  employed 
a  kind  of  tackle  comparatively  rare  in  English  society. 
She  was  a.femme  incomprise.  She  despised  the  little  ways 
of  women;  she  was  full  of  infinite  possibilities;  she  was 
going  to  lead  the  world  if  only  she  could  get  the  chance. 
And  then,  gentlemen  of  the  jury  '  " 

Here  the  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Gabriel  Cassilis  ap- 
peared. His  wife  was  sitting  in  the  window,  cold,  calm, 
and  impassive.  Some  four  or  five  feet  from  her  stood 
Lawrence  Colquhoun;  he  was  performing  his  imaginary 
speech  with  great  rhetorical  power,  but  stopped  short  at 
sight  of  M.  le  Mari,  whom  he  knew  instinctively.  This 
would  have  been  a  little  awkward,  had  not  Mrs.  CassiHs 
proved  herself  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"  My  dear  I"  She  rose  and  greeted  her  husband  with 
the  tips  of  her  fingers.  "  You  are  early  to-day.  Let  me 
introduce  Mr.  Colquhoun,  a  very  old  friend  of  mine." 

"  I  am  very  glad,  Mr.  Colquhoun,  to  know  you.  I  have 
heard  of  you." 

"  Pray  sit  down,  Mr.  Colquhoun,  unless  you  will  go  on 
with  your  description.  Mr.  Colquhoun,  who  has  just  ar- 
rived from  America,  my  dear,  was  giving  me  a  vivid  ac- 
count of  some  American  trial-scene  which  he  witnessed." 

Her  manner  was  perfectly  cold,  clear,  and  calm.  She 
was  an  admirable  actress,  and  there  was  not  a  trace  left 
of  the  weeping,  shamefaced  woman  who  received  Law- 
rence Colquhoun. 

Gabriel  Cassilis  looked  at  his  visitor  with  a  little  pang 


226  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

of  jealousy.  This,  then,  was  the  man  with  whom  his  wife's 
name  had  been  coupled.  To  be  sure,  it  was  a  censorious 
world;  but  then  he  was  a  handsome  fellow,  and  a  quarter 
of  a  century  younger  than  himself.  However,  he  put 
away  the  thought,  and  tapped  his  knuckles  with  his  double 
glasses  while  he  talked. 

To-day,  whether  from  fatigue  or  from  care,  he  was  not 
quite  himself;  not  the  self-possessed  man  of  clear  business 
mind  that  he  wished  to  appear.  Perhaps  something  had 
gone  wrong. 

Lawrence  and  Mrs.  Cassilis,  or  rather  the  latter,  began 
talking  about  days  of  very  long  ago,  so  that  her  husband 
found  himself  out  of  the  conversation.  This  made  him 
uneasy,  and  less  useful  when  the  talk  came  within  his 
reach.  But  his  wife  was  considerate — made  allowances, 
so  to  speak,  for  age  and  fatigue;  and  Lawrence  noted 
that  he  was  fond  and  proud  of  her. 

He  came  away  in  a  melancholy  mood. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  he  said.  "  I  wish  I  couldn't  feel  any- 
thing about  it,  one  way  or  the  other.     Victoria  has  gone 

off,  and  I  wonder  how  in  the  world And  now  she  has 

made  a  fool  of  herself.  It  is  not  my  fault.  Some  day  it 
will  all  come  out.  And  I  am  an  accessory  ofter  the  fact. 
If  it  were  not  for  that  Phillis  girl — I  must  see  after  her — 
and  she  is  pretty  enough  to  keep  any  man  in  town — I 
would  go  back  to  America  again,  if  it  were  to  Empire 
City. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

"  Now  you  set  your  foot  on  shore 
In  Novo  Orbe ;  here's  the  rich  Peru ; 
And  there,  within,  sir,  are  the  golden  mines, 
Great  Solomon's  Ophir." 

UNLIMITED  credit !   Wealth  without  bound  !  Power 
to  gratify  any  desire — all   desires  !     That   was  the 
luck  of  the  Golden  Butterfly,     No  wish  within  the  reach 


XHE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  227 

of  man  that  Gilead  Beck  could  not  gratify.  No  project 
or  plan  within  limits  far,  far  beyond  what  are  generally 
supposed  reasonable,  that  he  could  not  carry  out.  Take 
your  own  case,  brother  of  mine,  struggling  to  realise  the 
modest  ambitions  common  to  cultured  humanity,  and  to 
force  them  within  the  bounds  of  a  slender  income.  Think 
of  the  thousand  and  one  things  you  want;  think  of  the 
conditions  of  your  life  you  would  wished  changed;  think 
of  the  generous  aspirations  you  would  gratify:  think  of 
the  revenges,  malices,  envies,  hatreds,  which  you  would 
be  able  to  satiate — had  you  the  wealth  which  gives  the  power. 
Then  suppose  yourself  suddenly  possessed  of  that  wealth, 
and  think  what  you  would  do  with  it. 

Your  brain  is  feeble;  it  falters  at  a  few  thousands;  a 
hundred  thousand  a  year  is  too  much  for  it — it  was  as 
much,  if  I  remember  rightly,  as  even  the  imagination  of 
the  elder  Dumas  attained  to.  Beyond  a  paltry  twenty 
thousand  or  so,  one  feels  oppressed  in  imagination  with  a 
weight  of  income,  Let  us  suppose  you  stick  at  twenty 
thousand.  What  would  you  do  with  it  .^  What  could  you 
not  do  with  it  ?  Your  ideal  Society — the  one  thing  want- 
ing, only  rich  men  cannot  be  brought  to  see  it,  to  regen- 
erate the  world — that  could  instantly  be  put  on  a  sound 
footing.  Your  works — those  works  which  you  keep  locked 
up  in  a  desk  at  home — you  could  publish,  and  at  once 
step  into  your  right  position  as  a  leader  of  thought, 
an  avaB,  avdp&iv.  Your  projects,  educational,  moral, 
theatrical,  literary,  musical,  could  all  together,  for  they  are 
modest,  be  launched  upon  the  ocean  of  public  opinion. 
You  could  gratify  your  taste  for  travel,  Like  Charles 
Kingsley,  you  could  stand  in  the  shadow  of  a  tropical  for- 
est (it  would  not  be  one  quarter  so  beautiful  as  a  hundred 
glades  ten  miles  from  Southampton)  and  exclaim,  *'  At 
last !'  You  are  an  archaeologist,  and  have  as  yet  seen 
little.  You  could  make  that  long-desired  trip  to  Naples 
and  see  Pompeii;  you  could  visit  the  cities  of  the  Midi, 
and  explore  the  Roman  remains  you  have  as  yet  only  read 


228  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

of;  you  could  take  that  journey  to  Asia  Minor,  your  dream 
of  twenty  years,  and  sketch  the  temples  still  standing, 
roofed  and  perfect,  unvisited  since  the  last  stragglers  of 
the  last  crusading  army  died  of  famine  on  the  steps,  scof- 
fing with  their  latest  breath  at  the  desecrated  altar.  Their 
bones  lay  mouldering  in  front  of  the  marble  columns — 
silent  monuments  of  a  wasted  enthusiasm — while  the  flesh- 
less  fingers  pointed  at  if  in  scorn  in  the  direction  of  Jeru- 
salem. They  have  been  dust  this  many  a  year.  Dust 
blown  about  the  fields;  manure  for  the  crops  which  the 
peasant  raises  in  luxuriance  by  scratching  the  soil.  But 
the  temples  stand  still,  sacred  yet  to  the  memory  of 
Mother  Earth,  the  many-breasted  goddess  of  the  Ephe- 
sians.  Why,  if  you  had  that  ;^2o,ooo  a  year,  you  would 
go  there,  sketch,  photograph,  and  dig. 

What  could  not  one  do  if  one  had  money  ?  And  then 
one  takes  to  thinking  what  is  done  by  those  who  actually 
have  it.  Well,  they  subscribe — they  give  to  hospitals  and 
institutions — and  they  save  the  rest.  Happy  for  this  coun- 
try that  Honduras,  Turkey,  and  a  few  other  places  exist 
to  plunder  the  British  capitalists,  or  we  should  indeed 
perish  of  wealth-plethora.  Thousands  of  things  all  round 
us  wait  to  be  done;  things  which  must  be  done  by  rich 
men,  and  cannot  be  done  by  trading  men,  because  they 
would  not  pay. 

Exempli  gratia  j  here  are  a  few  out  of  the  many. 

1.  They  are  always  talking  of  endowment  of  research; 
all  the  men  who  think  they  ought  to  be  endowed  are 
clamouring  for  it.  But  think  of  the  luxury  of  giving  a 
man  a  thousand  a  year,  and  teUing  him  to  work  for  the 
rest  of  his  days  with  no  necessity  for  doing  pot-boilers. 
Yet  no  rich  man  does  it.  There  was  a  man  in  Scotland, 
the  other  day,  gave  half  a  million  to  the  Kirk.  For  all  the 
luxury  to  be  got  out  of  that  impersonal  gift,  one  might 
just  as  well  drop  a  threepenny-bit  into  the  crimson  bag. 

2.  This  is  a  country  in  which  the  dramatic  instinct  is  so 
strong  as  to  be  second  only  to  that  of  France.     We  want 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  229 

a  National  Theatre,  where  such  a  thing  as  a  300  nights' 
run  would  be  possible,  and  which  should  be  a  school  for 
dramatists  as  well  as  actors.  A  paltry  ^^10,000  a  year 
would  pay  the  annual  deficit  in  such  a  theatre.  Perhaps, 
taking  year  with  year,  less  than  half  that  sum  would  do. 
No  rich  man  has  yet  proposed  to  found,  endow,  or  subsi- 
dise such  a  theatre, 

4.  In  this  City  of  London  thousands  of  boys  run  about 
the  streets  ragged  and  hungry.  Presently  they  become 
habitual  criminals.  Then  they  cost  the  country  huge 
sums  in  goals,  policemen,  and  the  like.  Philanthropic 
people  catch  a  few  of  these  boys  and  send  them  to  places 
where  they  are  made  excellent  sailors.  Yet  the  number 
does  not  diminish.  A  small  j£iS  a  year  pays  for  a  single 
boy.  A  rich  man  might  support  a  thousand  of  them. 
Yet  no  rich  man  does. 

4.  In  this  country  millions  of  women  have  to  work  for 
their  living.  Everybody  who  employs  those  women 
under-pays  them  and  cheats  them.  Women  cannot 
form  trade-unions — they  are  without  the  organ  of 
government  ;  therefore  they  are  downtrodden  in 
the  lace.  They  do  men's  work  at  a  quarter  of 
men's  wages.  No  trade  so  flourishing  as  that 
which  is  worked  by  women — witness  the  prosperity  of 
dress-making  masters.  The  workwomen  have  longer 
hours,  as  well  as  lower  pay,  than  the  men.  At  the  best, 
they  get  enough  to  keep  body  and  soul  together ;  not 
enough  for  self-respect ;  not  enough,  if  they  are  young 
and  good-looking,  to  keep  them  out  of  mischief.  To  give 
them  a  central  office  and  a  central  protecting  power 
might  cost  a  thousand  pounds  a  year  No  rich 
man  so  far  as  I  know,  has  yet  come  forward  with 
any  such  scheme  for  the  improvement  of  women's 
labour. 

5.  This  is  a  country  where  people  read  a  great  deal. 
More  books  are  printed  in  England  than  in  any  other 
country  in  the  world.     Reading  forms  the  amusement  of 


230  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY, 

half  our  hours,  the  deUght  of  our  leisure  time.  For  the 
whole  of  its  reading  Society  agrees  to  pay  Mundie  Sc 
Smith  from  three  to  ten  guineas  a  house.  Here  is  a 
sum  in  arithmetic  :  house-bills,  ;^i,5oo  a  year;  wine-bill.. 
;^3oo  ;  horses,  ^^500  ;  rent,  ^4°°  ;  travelling,  ;^4oo  ; 
dress — Lord  knows  what  ;  reading — say  jQ^  ;  also,  spent 
at  Smith's  stalls  in  two-shilling  novels,  say  thirty  shillings. 
That  is  the  patronage  of  Literature.  Successful  authors 
make  a  few  hundreds  a  year — successful  grocers  make  a 
few  thousands — and  people  say,  "  How  well  is  Literature 
rewarded  !" 

Mr.  Gilead  Beck  once  told  me  of  a  party  gathered  to- 
gether in  Virginia  City  to  mourn  the  decease  of  a 
dear  friend  cut  off  prematurely.  The  gentleman  in- 
trusted with  the  conduct  of  the  evening's  entertain- 
ment had  one-and-forty  dollars  put  into  his  hands  to 
be  laid  out  to  the  best  advantage.  He  expended  it  as 
follows : — 

Whisky  .  .  .    Forty  dollars,  (40f ) 

Bread  ....    One  dollar,  (1$) 

Total  .  .    Forty-one  dollars.     (41$) 

"  What,  in  thunder,"  asked  the  chairman,  "  made  you 
waste  all  that  money  in  bread  ?" 

Note. — He  had  never  read  Henry  IV. 

The  modern  patronage  of  Literature  is  exactly  like  the 
proportion  of  bread  observed  by  the  gentleman  of  Virginia 
City. 

Five  pounds  a  year  for  the  mental  food  of  all  the  house- 
hold. 

Enough;  social  reform  is  a  troublesome  and  an  expen- 
sive thing.  Let  it  be  done  by  the  societies  ;  there  are 
plenty  of  people  anxious  to  be  seen  on  platforms,  and 
plenty  of  men  who  are  rejoiced  to  take  the  salary  of 
secretary. 

Think  again  of  Mr.  Gilead  Beck's  Luck  and  what  it 
meant.  The  wildest  flights  of  your  fancy  never  reach 
to  a  fourth  part  of  his  income.    The  yearly  revenues  of  a 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  23I 

Grosvenor  fall  far  short  of  this  amazing  good  fortune, 
Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  earth  was  flowing  for  him  a  con- 
tinuous stream  of  wealth  that  seemed  inexhaustible.  Not 
one  well,  but  fifty,  were  his,  and  all  yielding.  When  he 
told  Jack  Dunqerque  that  his  income  was  a  thousand 
pounds  a  day,  he  was  far  within  the  limit.  In  these  weeks 
he  was  clearing  fifteen  hundred  pounds  in  every  twenty- 
four  hours.  That  makes  forty-five  thousand  pounds  a 
month  ;  five  hundred  and  forty  thousand  pounds  a  year. 
Can  a  Grosvenor  or  a  Dudley  reach  to  that  ? 

The  first  well  was  still  the  best,  and  it  showed  no  signs 
of  giving  out ;  and  as  Mr.  Beck  attributed  its  finding  to 
the  direct  personal  instigation  of  the  Golden  Butterfly,  he 
firmly  believed  that  it  never  would  give  out.  Other  shafts 
had  been  sunk  round  it,  but  with  varying  success  ;  the 
ground  covered  with  derricks  and  machinery  erected  for 
boring  fresh  wells  and  working  the  old,  an  army  of  men 
were  engaged  in  these  operations;  a  new  town  had  sprung 
up  in  the  place  of  Limerick  City  ;  and  Gilead  P.  Beck,  its 
King,  was  in  London,  trying  to  learn  how  his  money 
might  best  be  spent. 

It  weighed  heavily  upon  his  mind  ;  the  fact  that  he  was 
by  no  effort  of  his  own,  through  no  merit  of  his  own, 
earning  a  small  fortune  every  week  made  him  thoughtful. 
In  his  rough  way  he  took  the  wealth  as  so  much  trust- 
money.  He  was  entitled,  he  thought,  to  live  upon  it  accord- 
ing to  his  inclination ;  he  was  to  have  what  his  soul  craved  for 
he  was  to  use  it  first  for  his  own  purposes;  but  he  was  to 
devote  what  he  could  not  spend — that  is,  the  great  bulk 
of  it — somehow  to  the  general  good.  Such  was  the  will 
of  the  Golden  Butterfly. 

I  do  not  know  how  the  idea  came  into  Gilead  Beck's 
head  that  he  was  to  regard  himself  a  trustee.  The  man's 
antecedents  would  seem  against  such  a  conception  of  For- 
tune and  her  responsibilities.  Born  in  a  New  England 
village,  educated  till  the  age  of  twelve  in  a  village  school, 
he  had  been  turned  upon  the  world  to  make  his  livelihood 


232  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY, 

in  it  as  best  he  could.  He  was  evetything  by  turns;  there 
was  hardly  a  trade  that  he  did  not  attempt,  not  a  calling 
which  he  did  not  for  a  while  follow.  111  luck  attended 
him  for  thirty  years;  yet  his  courage  did  not  flag  Every 
fresh  attempt  to  escape  from  poverty  only  seemed  to 
throw  him  back  deeper  in  the  slough.  Yet  he  never  de- 
spaired. His  time  would  surely  come.  He  preserved  his 
independence  of  soul,  and  he  preserved  his  hope. 

But  all  the  time  he  longed  for  wealth.  The  desire  for 
riches  is  an  instinct  with  the  Englishman,  a  despairing 
dream  with  the  German,  a  stimulus  for  hoardmg  with  the 
Frenchman,  but  it  is  a  consuming  fire  with  the  American 
Gilead  P.  Beck  breathed  an  atmosphere  charged  with  the 
contagion  of  restless  ambition.  How  many  great  men — 
presidents,  vice-presidents,  judges,  orators,  merchants — 
have  sprung  from  the  obscure  villages  of  the  older  States  • 
Gilead  Beck  started  on  his  career  with  a  vague  idea  that 
he  was  going  to  be  something  great.  As  the  years  went 
on  he  retained  the  belief,  but  it  ceased  to  take  a  concrete 
form.  He  did  not  see  himself  in  the  chair  of  Ulysses  Grantr 
he  did  not  dream  of  becoming  a  statesman  or  an  orator 
But  he  was  going  to  be  a  man  of  mark.  Somehow  he  was 
bound  to  be  great. 

And  then  came  the  Golden  Butterfly. 

See  Mr.  Beck  now.  It  is  ten  in  the  morning.  He  ha? 
left  the  pile  of  letters,  most  of  them  begging  letters,  un- 
opened at  his  elbow.  He  has  got  the  case  of  glass  and 
gold  containing  the  Butterfly  on  the  table.  The  sunlight 
pouring  in  at  the  opened  window  strikes  upon  the  yellow 
metal,  and  lights  up  the  delicately  chased  wings  of  this 
freak  of  Nature.  Poised  on  the  wire,  the  Golden  Butter 
fly  seems  to  hover  of  its  own  accord  upon  the  petals  of  tne 
rose.  It  is  alive.  As  its  owner  sits  before  it,  the  creature 
seems  endowed  with  life  and  motion.  This  is  nonsense, 
but  Mr.  Beck  thinks  so  at  the  moment. 

On  the  table  is  a  map  of  his  Canadian  oil-fields. 

He  sits   like  this  nearly  every   morning,  the  gilded  box 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLV.  233 

before  him.  It  is  his  way  of  consulting  the  oracle.  After 
his  interview  with  the  Butterfly  he  rises  refreshed  and 
clear  of  vision.  This  morning,  if  his  thoughts  could  be 
written  down,  they  might  take  this  form  : 

"  I  am  rich  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice.  I  have  more 
than  I  can  spend  upon  the  indulgence  of  every  whim  that 
ever  entered  the  head  of  sane  man.  When  I  have  bought 
all  the  luxuries  that  the  world  has  to  sell,  there  still 
remains  to  be  saved  more  than  any  other  living  man  has 
to  spend. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  with  it  ? 

"  Shall  I  lay  it  up  in  the  Bank  ?  The  Bank  might 
break.  That  is  possible.  Or  the  well  might  stop.  No; 
that  is  impossible.  Other  wells  have  stopped,  but  no  well 
has  run  like  mine,  or  will  again;  for  I  have  struck  through 
the  crust  of  the  earth  into  the  almighty  reservoir. 

"  How  to  work  out  this  trust  ?  Who  will  help  me  to 
spend  the  money  aright  ?  How  is  such  a  mighty  pile  to 
be  spent  ? 

"  Even  if  the  Butterfly  were  to  fall  and  break,  who  can 
deprive  me  of  my  wealth  ?" 

His  servant  threw  open  the  door  :  "  Mr.  Cassilis,  sir." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  Doubtfully  it  stood. 
As  two  spent  swimmers  that  do  cling  together 
And  choke  their  art." 

ONE  of  Gilead  Beck's  difficulties — perhaps  his  great- 
est— was  his  want  of  an  adviser.  People  in  Eng- 
land who  have  large  incomes  pay  private  secretaries  to 
advise  them.  The  post  is  onerous,  but  carries  with  it  con- 
siderable influence.  To  be  a  Great  Man's  whisperer  is  a 
position  coveted  by  many.  At  present  the  only  confiden- 
tial adviser  of  the  American  Croesus  was  Jack  Dunquerque, 
and  he  was  unsalaried  and  therefore  careless.     Ladds  and 


234  'THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

Colquhoun  were  less  ready  to  listen,  and  Gabriel  Cassilis 
showed  a  want  of  sympathy  with  Mr.  Beck's  Trusteeship 
which  was  disheartening.  As  for  Jack,  he  treated  the 
sacred  Voice,  which  was  to  Gilead  Beck  what  his  demon 
was  to  Socrates,  with  profound  contempt.  But  he  enjoyed 
the  prospect  of  boundless  spending  in  which  he  was  likely 
to  have  a  disinterested  share.  Next  to  unlimited  "  chuck- 
ing "  of  his  own  money,  the  youthful  Englishman  would 
like — what  he  never  gets — the  unlimited  chucking  of  other 
people's.  So  Jack  brought  ideas,  and  communicated  them 
as  they  occurred. 

"  Here  is  one,"  he  said.  "  It  will  get  rid  of  thousands; 
it  will  be  a  Blessing  and  a  Boon  for  you  ;  it  will  make  a 
real  hole  in  the  Pile  ;  and  it's  Philanthropy  itself.  Start  a 
new  daily." 

Mr.  Beck  was  looking  straight  before  him  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets.  His  face  was  clouded  with  the  anxiety  of 
his  wealth.     Who  would  wish  to  be  a  rich  man  ? 

"  I  have  been  already  thinking  of  it,  Mr.  Dunquerque," 
he  said.     "  Let  us  talk  it  over." 

He  sat  down  in  his  largest  easy-chair,  and  chewed  the 
end  of  an  unlighted  cigar. 

"  I  have  thought  of  it,"  he  went  on.  "  I  want  a  paper 
that  shall  have  no  advertisements  and  no  leading  articles. 
If  a  man  can't  say  what  he  wants  to  say  in  half  a  column, 
that  man  may  go  to  some  other  paper.  I  shall  get  only 
live  men  to  write  for  me.  I  will  have  no  long  reports  of 
speeches,  and  the  bunkum  of  life  shall  be  cut  out  of 
the  paper." 

"  Then  it  will  be  a  very  little  paper." 

*'  No,  sir.  There  is  a  great  deal  to  say,  once  you  get 
the  right  man  to  say  it.  I've  been  an  editor  myself,  and  I 
know" 

"  You  will  not  expect  the  paper  to  pay  you  ? " 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  shall  pay  for  that  paper.  And  there  shall 
be  no  cutting  up  of  bad  books  to  show  smart  writing.  I 
shall  teach  some  of  your  reviews  good  manners." 


THE  GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  2J5 

"  But  we  pride  ourselves  on  the  tone  of  our  reviews." 

"  Perhaps  you  do,  sir.  I  have  remarked,  that  English- 
men pride  themselves  on  a  good  many  things.  I  will  back 
a  first-class  British  subject  for  bubbling  around  against  all 
humanity.  See,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  last  week  I  read  one 
of  your  high-toned  reviews.  There  was  an  article  in  it  on 
a  novel.  The  novel  was  a  young  lady's  novel.  When  I 
was  editing  the  Clearville  Roarer  I  couldn't  have  laid  it  on 
in  finer  style  for  the  rough  back  of  a  Ward  Politician. 
And  a  young  lady  !  " 

"  People  like  it,  I  suppose,"  said  Jack. 

"  I  dare  say  they  do,  sir.  They  used  to  like  to  see  a 
woman  flogged  at  the  cart-tail.  I  am  not  much  of  a  com- 
pany man,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  but  I  believe  that  when  a 
young  lady  sings  out  of  tune  it  is  not  considered  good 
manners  to  get  up  and  say  so.  And  it  isn't  thought  polite 
to  snigger  and  grin.  And  in  my  country,  if  a  man  was  to 
invite  the  company  to  make  game  of  that  young  lady  he 
would  perhaps  be  requested  to  take  a  header  through  the 
window.  Let  things  alone,  and  presently  that  young 
lady  discovers  that  she  is  not  likely  to  get  cracked  up  as  a 
vocaller.  I  shall  conduct  my  paper  on  the  same  polite 
principles.  If  a  man  thinks  he  can  sing  and  can't  sing, 
let  him  be  for  a  bit.  Perhaps  he  will  find  out  his  mistake. 
If  he  doesn't,  tell  him  gently.  And  if  that  won't  do,  get 
your  liveliest  writer  to  lay  it  on  once  for  all.  But  to  go 
sneakin'  and  pryin'  around,  pickin'  out  the  poor  trash,  and 
cutting  it  up  to  make  the  people  grin — it's  mean,  Mr. 
Dunquerque,  it's  mean.  The  cart-tail  and  the  cat-o'-nine 
was  no  worse  than  this  exhibition.  I'm  told  it's  done 
regularly,  and  paid  for  handsomely." 

"  Shall  you  be  your  own  editor  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  Perhaps  if  I  stay  long  enough  in 
this  city  to  get  to  the  core  of  things,  I  shall  scatter  my 
own  observations  around.     But  that's  uncertain." 

He  rose  slowly — it  took  him  a  long  time  to  rise — and 
extended  his  long  arms,  bringing  them  together  in  a  com- 


236  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

prehensive  way,  as  if  he  was  embracing  the  universe. 

"  I  shall  have  central  offices  in  New  York  and  London. 
But  I  shall  drive  the  English  team  first.  I  shall  have  cor- 
respondents all  over  the  world,  and  I  shall  have  informa- 
tion of  every  dodge  goin,'  from  an  emperor's  ambition  to 
a  tin-pot  company  bubble." 

He  brought  his  fingers  togther  with  a  clasp.  Jack  no- 
ticed how  strong  and  bony  those  fingers  were,  with  hands 
whose  muscles  seemed  of  steel. 

The  countenance  of  the  man  was  earnest  and  solemn. 
Suddenly  it  changed  expression,  and  that  curious  smile  of 
his,  unlike  the  smile  of  any  other  man,  crossed  his  face. 

"  Did  I  ever  tell  you  my  press  experiences  ?"  he  asked. 
"  Let  us  have  some  champagne,  and  you  shall  hear 
them." 

The  champagne  having  been  brought  he  told  his  story, 
walking  slowly  up  and  down  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
and  jerking  out  the  sentences  as  if  he  was  feeling  for  the 
most  telling  way  of  putting  them. 

Mr.  Gilead  Beck  had  two  distinct  styles  of  conversa- 
tion. Generally,  but  for  his  American  tone,  the  length  of 
his  sentences,  and  a  certain  florid  wealth  of  illustration, 
you  might  take  him  for  an  Englishman  of  eccentric  habits 
of  thought.  When  he  went  back  to  his  old  experiences 
he  employed  the  vernacular — rich,  metaphoric,  and  full — 
which  belongs  to  the  Western  States  in  the  rougher  period 
of  their  development.     And  this  he  used  now. 

"  I  was  in  Chicago.  Fifteen  years  ago.  I  wanted  em- 
ployment. Nobody  wanted  me.  I  spent  most  of  the 
dollars,  and  thought  I  had  better  dig  out  for  a  new  loca- 
tion, when  I  met  one  day  an  old  schoolfellow  named  Ray- 
ner.  He  told  me  he  was  part  proprietor  of  a  morning 
paper.  I  asked  him  to  take  me  on.  He  said  he  was  only 
publisher,  but  he  would  take  me  to  see  the  Editor,  Mr. 
John  B.  Van  Cott,  and  perhaps  he  would  set  me  grinding 
at  the  locals.  We  found  the  Editor.  He  was  a  short 
active  man  of  fifty,  and  he  looked  as  cute  as  he  was. 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  237 

Because,  you  see,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  unless  you  are  pretty 
sharp  on  a  Western  paper,  you  won't  earn  your  mush. 
He  was  keeled  back,  I  remember,  in  a  strong  chair,  with 
his  feet  on  the  front  of  the  table,  and  a  clip  full  of  paper 
on  his  knee.  And  in  this  position  he  used  to  write  his 
leading  articles.  Squelchers,  some  of  them;  made  gentle- 
men of  opposite  politics  cry,  and  drove  rival  editors  to 
polishing  shooting-irons.  The  floor  was  covered  with  ex- 
changes. And  there  was  nothing  else  in  the  place  but  a 
cracked  stove,  half  a  dozen  chairs  standing  around  loose, 
and  a  spittoon. 

"  I  mention  these  facts,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  to  show  that 
there  was  good  standing-room  for  a  free  fight  of  not  more 
than  two. 

"  Mr.  Van  Cott  shook  hands,  and  passed  me  the  tobac- 
co-pouch, while  Rayner  chanted  my  praises.  When  he 
wound  up  and  went  away,  the  Editor  began. 

"  *  Wal,  sir,'  he  said,  *  you  look  as  if  you  knew  enough 
to  go  indoors  when  it  rains,  and  Rayner  seems  powerful 
anxious  to  get  you  on  the  paper.  A  good  fellow  is  Ray- 
ner; as  white  a  man  as  I  ever  knew;  and  he  has  as  many 
old  friends  as  would  make  a  good-sized  city.  He  brings 
them  all  here,  Mr.  Beck,  and  wants  to  put  every  one  on 
the  paper.  To  hear  him  hold  forth  would  make  a  camp- 
meeting  exhorter  feel  small.  But  he's  disinterested,  is 
Rayner.     It's  all  pure  goodness,' 

"  I  tried  to  feel  as  if  I  wasn't  down-hearted.  But  I 
was. 

"  *  Any  way,'  I  said,  '  if  I  can't  get  on  here,  I  must  dig 
out  for  a  place  nearer  sundown.  Once  let  me  get  a  fair 
chance  on  a  paper,  and  I  can  keep  my  end  of  the  stick.' 

"  The  Editor  went  on  to  tell  me  what  I  knew  already, 
that  they  wanted  live  men  on  the  paper,  fellows  that 
would  do  a  murder  right  up  to  the  handle.  Then  he  came 
to  business;  offered  me  a  triple  execution  just  to  show  my 
style;  and  got  up  to  introduce  me  to  the  other  boys. 

"  Just  then  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 


238  THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"  *  That's  Poulter,  our  local  Editor,'  he  said.  <  Come 
in,  Poulter.     He  will  take  you  down  for  me.' 

**  The  door  opened,  but  it  wasn't  Poulter.  I  knew  that 
by  instinct.  It  was  a  rough-looking  customer,  with  a 
black-dyed  moustache,  a  diamond  pin  in  his  shirt  front, 
and  a  great  gold  chain  across  his  vest;  and  he  carried  a 
heavy  stick  in  his  hand. 

"  <  Which  is  the  one  of  you  two  that  runs  this  machine  ?' 
he  asked,  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

**  *  I  am  the  Editor,'  said  Mr.  Van  Cott,  '  if  you  mean 
that.' 

"  *  Then  you  air  the  Rooster  I'm  after,'  he  went  on,  *  I 
am  John  Halkett  of  Tenth  Ward.  I  want  to  know  what 
in  thunder  you  mean  by  printing  infernal  lies  about  me 
and  my  party  in  your  miserable  one-hoss  paper.' 

"  He  drew  a  copy  of  the  paper  from  his  pocket,  and  held 
it  before  the  Editor's  eyes. 

" '  You  know  your  remedy,  sir,'  said  Mr.  Van  Cott, 
quietly  edging  in  the  direction  of  the  table,  where  there 
was  a  drawer. 

"  *  That's  what  I  do  know.  That's  what  I'm  here  for. 
There's  two  remedies.  One  is  that  you  retract  all  the  lies 
you  have  printed,  the  other  ' 

" '  You  need  not  tell  me  what  the  other  is,  Mr.  Halkett.' 
As  he  spoke  he  drew  open  the  drawer;  but  he  hadn  t 
time  to  take  the  pistol  from  it  when  the  ward  politician 
sprang  upon  him,  and  in  a  flash  of  lightning  they  were 
rolling  over  each  other  among  the  exchanges  on  the  floor. 

"  If  they  had  been  evenly  matched,  I  should  have  stood 
around  to  see  fair.  But  it  wasn't  equal.  Van  Cott,  you 
could  see  at  first  snap,  was  grit  all  through,  and  as  full  of 
fight  as  a  game-rooster.  But  it  was  bulldog  and  terrier. 
So  I  hitched  on  to  the  stranger,  and  pulled  him  off  by 
main  force. 

"*  You  will  allow  me,  Mr.  Van  Cott,'  I  said,  *  to  take 
this  contract  off  your  hands.  Choose  a  back  seat  sir,  and 
see  fair.' 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  239 

"  '  Sail  in,'  cried  Mr.  Halkett,  as  cheerful  as  a  coot, '  and 
send  for  the  coroner,  because  he'll  be  wanted.  I  don't 
care  which  it  is.' 

"  That  was  the  toughest  job  I  ever  had.  The  strength 
of  ward  politicians'  opinions  lies  in  their  powers  of  bruis- 
ing, and  John  Halkett,  as  I  learned  afterwards,  could  fight 
his  weight  in  wild  cats.  Fortunately  I  was  no  slouch  in 
those  days. 

"  He  met  my  advances  halfway.  In  ten  minutes  you 
couldn't  tell  Halkett  from  me,  nor  me  from  Halkett.  The 
furniture  moved  around  cheerfully,  and  there  was  a  lovely 
racket.  The  sub-editors,  printers,  and  reporters  came  run- 
ning in.  It  was  a  new  scene  for  them,  poor  fellows,  and 
they  enjoyed  it  accordingly.  The  Editor  they  had  often 
watched  in  a  fight  before,  but  here  were  two  strangers 
worrying  each  other  on  the  floor,  with  Mr.  Van  Cott  out 
of  it  himself,  dodging  around  cheering  us  on.  That  gave 
novelty. 

"  The  sharpest  of  the  reporters  had  his  flimsy  up  in  a 
minute,  and  took  notes  of  the  proceedings. 

"  We  fought  that  worry  through.  It  lasted  fifteen  min- 
utes. We  fought  out  of  the  office  ;  we  fought  down  the 
stairs  ;  and  we  fought  on  the  pavement. 

"  When  it  was  over,  I  found  myself  arrayed  in  the  tat- 
tered remnants  of  my  grey  coat,  and  nothing  else.  John 
Halkett  hadn't  so  much  as  that.  He  was  bruised  and 
bleeding,  and  he  was  deeply  moved.  Tears  stood  in  his 
eyes  as  he  grasped  me  by  the  hand. 

" '  Stranger,*  he  said,  *  will  you  tell  me  where  you  hail 
from?' 

"  •  Air  you  satisfied,  Mr.  Halkett,'  I  replied,  *  with  the 
editorial  management  of  this  newspaper  ? ' 

"  'I  am,'  he  answered.  *  You  bet.  This  is  the  very  best 
edited  paper  that  ever  ran.  Good  morning,  sir.  You 
have  took  the  starch  out  of  John  Halkett  in  a  way  that  no 
starch  ever  was  took  out  of  that  man  before.  And  if  ever 
you  get  into  a  tight  place,  you  come  to  me.' 


240  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  They  put  him  in  a  cab,  and  sent  him  home  for  repairs. 
I  went  back  to  the  Editor's  room.  He  was  going  on 
again  with  his  usual  occupation  of  manufacturing  squelch- 
ers. The  fragments  of  the  chairs  lay  around  him,  but  he 
wrote  on  unmoved. 

" '  Consider  yourself  permanently  engaged,'  he  said. 
The  firm  will  pay  for  a  new  suit  of  clothes.  Why  couldn't 
you  say  at  once  that  )'^ou  were  fond  of  fighting  ?  I  never 
saw  a  visitor  tackled  in  a  more  lovable  style.  Why,  you 
must  have  been  brought  up  to  it.  And  just  to  think  that 
one  might  never  have  discovered  your  points  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  the  fortunate  accident  of  John  Halkett's 
call ! ' 

"  I  said  I  was  too  modest  to  mention  my  tastes. 

"  *  Most  fortunate  it  is,  Blevins,  who  used  to  do  our 
fighting — a  whole  team  he  was  at  it — was  killed  three 
months  ago  on  this  very  floor  ;  there's  the  mark  of  his 
fluid  still  on  the  wall.  We  gave  Blevins  a  first-class 
funeral,  and  ordered  a  two-hundred-dollar  monument  to 
commemorate  his  virtues.  We  were  not  ungrateful  to 
Blevins. 

"  *  Birkett  came  next,'  he  went  on,  making  corrections 
with  a  pencil  stump.  *  But  he  was  licked  like  a  cur  three 
times  in  a  fortnight.  People  used  to  step  in  on  purpose 
to  wallop  Birkett,  it  was  such  an  easy  amusement.  The 
paper  w^as  falling  into  disgrace,  so  we  shunted  him.  He 
drives  a  cab  now,  which  suits  him  better,  because  he  was 
always  gentlemanly  in  his  ways 

"'Carter,  who  followed,  was  very  good  in  some  respects, 
but  he  wanted  judgment.  He's  in  hospital  with  a  bullet  in 
the  shoulder,  which  comes  of  his  own  carelessness.  We 
can't  take  him  on  again  any  more,  even  if  he  was  our  style, 
which  he  never  was.' 

"*  *  And  who  does  the  work  now  ? '  I  ventured  to 
ask. 

"  *  We  have  had  no  regular  man  since  Carter  was  car- 
ried off  on  a  shutter.     Each  one  does  a  little,  just  as  it 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  241 

happens  to  turn  up.  But  I  don't  like  the  irregular  system. 
It's  quite  unprofessional.' 

"  I  asked  if  there  was  much  of  that  sort  ot  thing. 

"  *  Depends  on  the  time  of  year.  It  is  the  dull  season 
just  now,  but  we  are  lively  enough  when  the  fall  elections 
come  on.  We  sometimes  have  a  couple  a  day  then.  You 
won't  find  yourself  rusting.  And  if  you  want  work,  we 
can  stir  up  a  few  editors  by  judicious  writing.  I'm  power- 
ful glad  we  made  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Beck.* 

"  That,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  is  how  I  became  connected 
with  the  press." 

"  And  did  you  like  the  position  ? " 

"  It  had  its  good  points.  It  was  a  situation  of  great 
responsibility.  People  were  continually  turning  up  who 
disliked  our  method  of  depicting  character,  and  so 
the  credit  of  the  paper  mainly  rested  on  my  should- 
ers. No,  sir ;  I  got  to  like  it,  except  when  I  had  to 
go  into  hospital  for  repairs.  And  even  that  had  its 
charms,  for  I  went  there  so  often  that  it  became  a  sort  of 
home,  and  the  surgeons  and  nurses  were  like  brothers  and 
sisters." 

"  But  you  gave  up  the  post  ? "  said  Jack. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  did.  The  occupation,  after  all,  wasn't 
healthy,  and  was  a  little  too  lively.  The  staff  took  a  pride 
in  me  too,  and  delighted  to  promote  freedom  of  discus- 
sion. If  things  grew  dull  for  a  week  or  two,  they  would 
scarify  some  ward  ruffian  just  to  bring  on  a  fight.  They 
would  hang  around  there  to  see  that  ward  rufl5an  approach 
the  office,  and  they  would  struggle  who  should  be  the 
man  to  point  me  out  as  the  gentleman  he  wished  to  inter- 
view. They  were  fond  of  me  to  such  an  extent  that,  they 
could  not  bear  to  see  a  week  pass  without  a  fight.  And  I 
will  say  this  of  them,  that  they  were  as  level  a  lot  of  boys 
as  ever  destroyed  a  man's  character. 

*'  Most  of  the  business  was  easy.  They  came  to  see 
Mr.  Van  Cott,  and  they  were  shown  up  to  me.  What  there 
is  of  me,  takes  up  a  good  deal  of  the  room.     And  when 


242  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

they'd  put  their  case  I  used  to  open  the  door  and  point. 
*  Git,'  I  would  say.  '  You  bet,'  was  the  general  reply;  and 
they  would  go  away  quite  satisfied  with  the  Editorial  re- 
ception. But  one  a  week  or  so  there  would  be  a  put-up 
thing,  and  I  knew  by  the  look  of  my  men  which  would 
take  their  persuasion  fighting. 

"  It  gradually  became  clear  to  me  that  if  I  remained 
much  longer  there  would  be  a  first  class  funeral,  with  me 
taking  a  prominent  part  in  the  procesh;  and  I  began  to 
think  of  digging  out  while  I  still  had  my  hair  on. 

"  One  morning  I  read  an  advertisement  of  a  paper  to 
be  sold.  It  was  in  the  city  of  Clearville,  Illinois,  and  it 
seemed  to  suit.  I  resolved  to  go  and  look  at  it,  and  ap- 
prised Mr.  Van  Cott  of  my  intention. 

"  '  I'm  powerful  sorry,'  he  said;  'but  of  course  we  can't 
keep  you  if  you  will  go.  You've  hoed  your  row  like  a 
square  man  ever  since  you  came,  and  I  had  hoped  to  have 
your  valuable  services  till  the  end.' 

"  I  attempted  to  thank  him,  but  he  held  up  his  hand, 
and  went  on  thoughtfully. 

"  '  There's  room  in  our  plat  at  Rose  Hill  Cemetery  for 
one  or  two  more;  and  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  let  you 
have  one  side  of  the  monument  all  to  yourself.  The  sunny 
side,  too — quite  the  nicest  nest  in  the  plat.  And  we'd 
have  given  you  eight  lines  of  poetry — Blivens  only  got 
four,  and  none  of  the  other  fellows  any,  I  assure  you, 
Beck,  though  you  may  not  think  it,  I  have  often  turned 
this  over  in  my  mind  when  you  have  been  in  hospital,  and 
I  got  to  look  on  it  as  a  settled  thing.  And  now  this  is 
how  it  ends.     Life  is  made  up  of  disappointments.' 

"  I  said  it  was  very  good  of  him  to  take  such  an  interest 
in  my  funeral,  but  that  I  had  no  yearning  at  present  for 
Rose  Hill  Cemetery,  and  I  thought  it  would  be  a  pity  to 
disturb  Blevins.  As  I  had  never  known  him  and  the  other 
boys,  they  mightn't  be  pleased  if  a  total  stranger  were  sent 
to  join  their  little  circle. 

"  Mr.   Van  Cott  was  good  enough    to  say  that  they 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  243 

wouldn't  mind  it  for  the  sake  of  the  paper:  but  I  had  my 
prejudices,  and  I  resigned. 

'i  I  don't  know  whether  you  visited  Illinois  when  you 
were  in  America,  Mr.  Dunquerque;  but  if  you  did,  perhaps 
you  went  to  Clearville.  It  is  in  that  part  of  the  State 
which  goes  by  the  name  of  Egypt,  and  is  so  named  on 
account  of  the  benighted  condition  of  the  natives.  It 
wasn't  a  lively  place  to  go  to,  but  still 

The  Cleartnlle  Roarer  was  the  property  of  a  Mrs. 
Scrimmager,  widow  of  the  lately  defunct  editor.  She  was 
a  fresh  buxom  widow  of  thirty-five,  with  a  flow  of  language 
that  would  down  a  town  council  or  a  vestry.  I  inferred 
from  this  that  the  late  Mr.  Scrimmager  was  not  probabUy 
very  sorry  when  the  time  came  for  him  to  pass  in  his 
checks. 

"  She  occupied  the  upper  flats  of  a  large  square  build- 
ing, in  the  lower  part  of  which  were  the  offices  of  the 
paper.  I  inspected  the  premises,  and  having  found  that 
the  books  and  plant  were  pretty  well  what  the  advertise- 
ment pretended,  I  closed  the  bargain  at  once,  and  entered 
into  possession. 

"  The  first  evening  I  took  tea  with  Mrs.  Scrimmager. 

"  *  It  must  be  more  than  a  mite  lonely  for  you,'  she  said, 
as  we  sat  over  her  dough-nuts  and  flipflaps,  *  up  at  the 
tavern.  But  you'll  soon  get  to  know  all  the  leading 
people.  They're  a  two-cent  lot,  the  best  of  them.  Scrim- 
my  (we  always  called  him  Scrimmy  for  short)  never  cot- 
toned to  them.  He  used  to  say  they  were  too  low  and 
common,  mean  enough  to  shoot  a  man  without  giving  him 
a  chance — a  thing  which  Scrimmy,  who  was  honourable 
from  his  boots  up,  would  have  scorned  to  do.' 

"  I  asked  if  it  was  long  since  her  husband  had  taken  his 
departure. 

" '  He  started,'  she  said,  '  for  kingdom  come  two  months 
ago,  if  that's  what  you  mean.' 

«  *  Long  ill  ?' 

"  '  111  ?'  she   replied,  as   if   surprised   at  the  question. 


244  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

*  Scrimmy  never  was  ill  in  his  life.      He  was  quite  the 
wrong  man  for  that.     Scrimmy  was  killed.' 

"  '  Was  he,'  I  asked.     *  Railway  accident,  I  suppose  ?' 

"  Mrs.  Scrimmager  looked  at  me  resentfully,  as  if  she 
thought  I  really  ought  to  have  known  better.  Then  she 
curved  her  upper  lip  in  disdain. 

"  *  Railway  accident  !     Not  much.     Scrimmy  was  shot.* 

"  '  Terrible  !'  I  ejaculated,  with  a  nervous  sensation, 
because  I  guessed  what  was  coming. 

"  '  Well,  it  was  rough  on  him,*  she  said.  *  Scrimmy  and 
Huggins  of  the  Scalper — do  you  know  Huggins  ?  Well, 
you'll  meet  him  soon  enough  for  your  health.  They 
hadn't  been  friends  for  a  long  while,  and  each  man  was 
waiting  to  draw  a  bead  on  the  other.  How  they  did  go 
for  one  another  !  As  an  ink-slinger,  Huggins  wasn't  a 
patch  on  my  husband;  but  Huggins  was  a  trifle  handier 
with  his  irons.  In  fact,  Huggins  has  shot  enough  men  to 
make  a  small  graveyard  of  his  own;  and  his  special  weak- 
ness is  editors  of  your  paper.' 

"  *  I  began  to  think  that  Clearville  was  not  altogether 
the  place  for  peace  and  rest.     But  it  was  too  late  now. 

"  The  lady  went  on  : 

"  Finally,  Scrimmy  wrote  something  that  riled  Huggins 
awful.  So  he  sent  him  a  civil  note,  saying  that  he'd  bore 
a  hole  in  him  first  chance.  I've  got  the  note  in  my  desk 
there.  That  was  gentlemanlike,  so  far;  but  he  spoiled  it 
all  by  the  mean  sneaking  way  he  carried  it  through. 
Scrimmy,  who  was  wonderful  careless  and  never  would 
take  my  advice,  was  writing  in  his  office  when  Huggins 
crept  in  quiet,  and  dropped  a  bullet  through  his  neck 
before  he  had  time  to  turn.  Scrimmy  knew  it  was  all  up; 
but  he  was  game  to  the  last,  and  finished  his  article,  giving 
the  Scalper  thunder.  When  he'd  done  it  he  came  upstairs 
and  died.' 

"  *  And  Mr.  Huggins  ?' 

"  '  They  tried  him;  but.  Lord,  the  jury  were  all  his 
friends,  and  they  brought  it  in  justifiable  homicide.    After 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  245 

the  funeral  Huggins  behaved  handsome;  he  put  the 
Scalper  into  deep  mourning,  and  wrote  a  beautiful  send- 
off  notice,  saying  what  a  loss  the  community  had  suffered 
in  Scrimmy's  untimely  end.  I've  got  the  article  in  my 
desk,  and  I'll  show  it  to  you;  but  somehow  I  never  could 
bring  myself  to  be  friends  with  Huggins  after  it.' 

"  '  Mr.  Scrimmager  was  perhaps  not  the  only  editor  who 
has  fallen  a  victim  in  Clearville.' 

"  *  The  only  one  ?  Not  by  a  long  chalk,'  she  replied. 
'The  Roarer  has  had  six  editors  in  five  years;  they've  all 
been  shot  except  one,  and  he  died  of  consumption.  His 
was  a  very  sad  case.  A  deputation  of  leading  citizens 
called  to  interview  him  one  evening;  he  took  refuge  on 
the  roof  of  the  office,  and  they  kept  him  there  all  night  in 
a  storm.  He  died  in  two  months  after  it.  But  he  was  a 
poor  nervous  critter,  quite  unfit  for  his  position.' 

"  *  And  this,'  I  thought,  *  this  is  the  place  I  have  chosen 
for  a  quiet  life,' 

"  I  debated  that  night  with  myself  whether  it  would  be 
better  to  blow  the  roof  off  my  head  at  once,  instead  of 
waiting  for  Huggins  or  some  other  citizen  to  do  it  for  me. 
But  I  resolved  on  waiting  a  little. 

"  Next  day  I  examined  the  files  of  the  Roarer,  and 
found  that  it  had  been  edited  with  great  vigor  and  force, 
there  was  gunpowder  in  every  article,  fire  and  brimstone 
in  every  paragraph.  No  wonder,  I  thought,  that  the  men 
who  wrote  those  things  were  chopped  up  into  sausage- 
meat.  I  read  more,  and  it  seemed  as  if  they  might  as  well 
have  set  themselves  up  as  targets  at  once.  I  determined 
on  changing  the  tone  of  the  paper;  I  would  no  longer  call 
people  midnight  assassins  and  highway  robbers,  nor  would 
I  hint  that  political  opponents  were  all  related  to  sus- 
pended criminals.  I  would  make  the  Roarer  something 
pure,  noble,  and  good ;  I  would  take  Washington  Irving 
for  my  model;  it  should  be  my  mission  to  elevate  the 
people. 
"  Wal,  sir,  I  begun.  I  wrote  for  my  first  number  articles 


246  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

as  elevating  as  Kentucky  whisky.  Every  sentence  was 
richly  turned;  evei-y  paragraph  was  as  gentle  as  if 
from  the  pen  of  Goldsmith.  There  was  a  mutiny 
among  the  compositors;  they  were  unaccustomed  to 
such  language,  and  it  made  them  feel  small.  One 
man,  after  swearing  till  the  atmosphere  was  blue, 
laid  down  his  stick  in  despair  and  went  and  got 
drunk.  And  the  two  apprentices  fought  over  the 
meaning  of  a  sentence  in  the  backyard.  One  of 
those  boys  is  now  a  cripple  for  life. 

"  It  would  have  been  better  for  me,  a  thousand  times 
better,  if  I  had  stuck  to  the  old  lines  of  writing.  The 
people  were  accustomed  to  that.  They  looked  for  it,  and 
they  didn't  want  any  elevating.  If  you  think  of  it,  Mr. 
Dunquerque,  people  never  do.  The  Clearville  roughs 
liked  to  be  abused,  too,  because  it  gave  them  prominence 
and  importance.  But  my  pure  style  didn't  suit  them,  and 
as  it  turned  out,  didn't  suit  me  either. 

"  The  City  Marshal  was  the  earliest  visitor  after  the 
issue  of  my  first  number.  He  came  to  say  that,  as  the 
chief  executive  officer  of  the  town,  he  would  not  be  respon- 
sible for  the  public  peace  if  I  persevered  in  that  inflam- 
matory style.  I  told  him  I  wouldn't  change  it  for  him  or 
anybody  else.  Then  he  said  it  would  cause  a  riot,  and  he 
washed  his  hands  of  it,  and  he'd  done  his  duty. 

"  Next  came  the  Mayor  with  two  town-councillors. 

"  *  What  in  thunder,  do  you  think  you  mean,  young 
man,'  his  honour  began,  pointing  to  my  last  editorial,  '  by 
bringing  everlasting  disgrace  on  our  town  with  such  mush 
as  that  ? ' 

"  He  called  it  mush. 

"  I  asked  him  what  was  wrong  in  it. 

"'Wrong?  It  is  all  wrong.  Of  all  the  mean  and  mis- 
erable twaddle ' 

"  He  called  it  miserable  twaddle. 

"  •  Hold  on,  Mr.  Mayor,'  I  said  ;  *  we  must  discuss  this 
article  in  a  different  way.    Which  member  of  your  august 


Ti;r^    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  247 

body  does  the  heavy  business  ? ' 

" '  We  all  take  a  hand  when  it's  serious,'  he  replied;  *  but 
in  ordinary  cases  it's  generally  understood  that  I  do  the 
municipal  fighting  myself.' 

" '  We'll  consider  this  an  ordinary  case,  Mr.  Mayor,'  I 
said  ;  and  I  went  for  that  chief  magistrate.  He  presently 
passed  through  the  window — the  fight  had  no  details  of 
interest — and  then  the  town-councillors  shook  hands  with 
me,  congratulated  me  on  my  editorial,  and  walked  out 
quiet   through  the  door. 

"  Nearly  a  dozen  Egyptians  dropped  in  during  the 
afternoon  to  remonstrate.  I  disposed  of  them  in  as  gen- 
tlemanlike a  manner  as  possible.  Towards  evening  I  was 
growing  a  little  tired,  and  thinking  of  shutting  up  for  the 
day,  when  my  foreman,  whom  the  day's  proceedings  had 
made  young  again — such  is  the  effect  of  joy — informed 
me  that  Mr.  Huggins  of  the  Scalper  was  coming  down 
the  street.  A  moment  later  Mr.  Huggins  entered.  He 
was  a  medium-sized  man,  with  sharp,  piercing  eyes  and  a 
well-bronzed  face,  active  as  a  terrier  and  tough  as  a  hick- 
ory knot,  I  was  sitting  in  the  wreck  of  the  office-desk, 
but  I  rose  as  he  came  in. 

"  '  Don't  stir,'  he  said  pleasantly.  *  My  name  is  Hug- 
gins ;  but  I  am  not  going  to  kill  you  to-day.' 

"  I  said  I  was  much  obliged  to  him. 

"  I  see  you've  been  receiving  visitors,'  he  went  on, 
looking  at  the  fragments  of  the  chairs.  *  Ours,  Mr.  Beck, 
is  an  active  and  a  responsible  profession,' 

"  I  said  I  thought  it  was. 

"  *  These  people  have  been  pressing  their  arguments 
home  with  unseemly  haste,'  he  said.  *  It  is  unkind  to  treat 
a  stranger  thus.  Now  as  for  me,  I  wouldn't  draw  on  you 
for  your  first  article,  not  to  be  made  Governor  of  Illinois. 
It  would  be  most  unprofessional.  Give  a  man  a  fair  show, 
I  say.' 

"  '  Very  good,  Mr.  Huggins.' 

At  the  same  time,  Mr.  Beck,  I  do  think  you've  laid 


(<  < 


248  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

yourself  open.  You  are  reckless,  not  to  say  insulting. 
Take  my  case.  You  never  saw  me  before,  and  you've 
had  the  weakness  to  speak  of  me  as  the  gentlemanly  edi- 
tor of  the  Scalper.^ 

"  *  I'm  sure,  Mr.  Huggins,  if  the  term  is  offensive  * 

"  *  Offensive  ?  Of  course  it  is  offensive.  But  as  this  is 
our  first  interview,  I  must  not  let  my  dander  rise.' 

"  '  Let  it  rise  by  all  means,  and  stay  as  high  as  it  likes. 
We  may  find  a  way  of  bringing  it  down  again.' 

'**  No,  no,'  he  answered,  smiling  ;  *it  would  be  unpro- 
fessional. Still,  I  must  say  that  your  sneaking,  snivelling 
city  way  of  speaking  will  not  go  down,  and  I  have  looked 
in  to  tell  you  that  it  must  not  be  repeated.' 

•'  *  It  shall  not  be  repeated,  Mr.  Huggins.  I  shall  never 
again  make  the  mistake  of  calling  you  a  gentleman.' 

"  He  started  up  like  a  flash,  and  moved  his  hand  to  his 
breast-pocket 

"  '  What  do  mean  by  that  ?' 

"  I  was  just  in  time,  as  I  sprang  upon  and  seized  him  by 
both  arms  before  he  could  draw  his  pistol. 

"  *I  mean  this,'  I  said;  'you've  waked  up  the  wrong 
passenger  this  time,  Mr.  Huggins.  You  needn't  wriggle. 
I've  been  chucking  people  through  the  window  all  day, 
and  you  shall  end  the  lot.  But  first  I  want  that  shooting- 
iron;  it  might  go  off  by  accident  and  hurt  some  one 
badly.' 

<■  It  was  a  long  and  mighty  heavy  contract,  for  he  was 
as  supple  as  an  eel  and  as  wicked  as  a  cat.  But  I  got  the 
best  holt  at  last,  relieved  him  of  his  pistol,  and  tossed  him 
through  the  window. 

"  '  Jim,'  I  said  to  the  foreman,  as  I  stretched  myself  in 
a  corner,  panting  and  bleeding,  '  You  can  shut  up.  We 
shan't  do  any  more  business  to-day.' 

"  I  issued  two  more  numbers  of  the  Roarer  on  the  same 
refined  and  gentlemanly  principle,  and  I  fought  half  the 
county.  But  all  to  no  purpose.  Neither  fighting  nor 
writing  could  reform  those  Egyptians. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  249 

"  Huggins  shot  me  through  the  arm  one  evening  as  I 
was  going  home  from  the  office.  I  shall  carry  his  mark 
to  the  grave.  Three  nights  later  I  was  waited  on  by 
about  thirty  leading  citizens,  headed  by  the  Mayor.  They 
said  they  thought  Clearville  wasn't  agreeing  with  me,  and 
they  were  come  to  remove  me.  I  was  removed  on  a  plank, 
escorted  by  a  torch-light  procesh  of  the  local  fire  brigade, 
on  the  platform  of  the  railway  station  the  Mayor  delivered 
a  short  address.  He  said,  with  tears,  that  the  interests  of 
party  were  above  those  of  individuals,  and  that  a  change 
of  residence  was  necessary  for  me.  Then  he  put  into  my 
hands  a  purse  of  two  hundred  dollars,  and  we  parted  with 
every  expression  of  mutual  este*^m. 

"  That  is  how  I  came  out  of  the  land  of  Egypt,  Mr. 
Dunquerque;  and  that  is  the  whole  history  of  my  connec- 
tion with  the  press." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  We  do  not  know 
How  she  may  soften  at  tbe  sight  o'  the  child." 

IF  life  was  pleasant  at  Carnarvon  Square,  it  was  far  more 
pleasant  by  the  banks  of  the  river.  Phillis  expanded 
like  a  rose  in  June  under  the  sweet  and  gracious  in- 
fluences with  which  Agatha  L'Estrange  surrounded  her. 
Her  straightforward  way  of  speaking  remained — the  way 
that  reminded  one  of  a  very  superior  schoolboy  who  had 
not  been  made  a  prig  at  Rugby — but  it  was  rounded  off 
by  something  more  of  what  we  call  maidenly  reserve.  It 
should  not  be  called  reserve  at  all;  it  is  an  atmosphere 
with  which  women  have  learned  to  surround  themselves, 
so  that  they  show  to  the  outward  world  like  unto  the 
haloed  moon.  Its  presence  was  manifested  in  a  hundred 
little  ways — she  did  not  answer  quite  so  readily;  she  did 
not  look  into  the  face  of  a  stranger  quite  so  frankly;  she 
seemed  to  be  putting  herself  more  upon  her  guard — strange 


250  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

that  the  chief  charm  of  women  should  be  a  relic  of  bar- 
barous times,  when  the  stronger  sex  were  to  be  feared  for 
their  strength  and  the  way  in  which  they  often  used  it. 
Only  with  Jack  Dunquerque  there  was  no  change.  With 
him  she  was  still  the  frank,  free-hearted  girl,  the  friend 
who  opened  all  her  heart,  the  maiden  who,  alone  of 
womankind,  knew  not  the  meaning  of  love. 

Phillis  was  perfectly  at  home  with  Agatha  L'Estrangc. 
She  carolled  about  the  house  like  a  bird;  she  played  and 
sang  at  her  sweet  will;  she  made  sketches  by  thousands; 
and  she  worked  hard  at  the  elements  of  all  knowledge. 
Heavens,  by  what  arid  and  thirsty  slopes  do  we  climb  the 
hills  of  Learning  !  Other  young  ladies  had  made  the 
house  by  the  river  their  temporary  home,  but  none  so 
clever,  none  so  bright,  none  so  entirely  lovable  as  this 
emancipated  cloister-child.  She  was  not  subdued,  as  most 
young  women  somehow  contrive  to  become;  she  dared  to 
have  an  opinion  and  to  assert  it;  she  did  not  tremble  and 
hesitate  about  acting  before  it  had  been  ascertained  that 
action  was  correct;  she  had  not  the  least  fear  of  compro- 
mising herself;  she  hardly  knew  the  meaning  of  proper 
and  improper;  and  she  who  had  been  a  close  prisoner  all 
her  life  was  suddenly  transformed  into  a  girl  as  free  as 
any  of  Diana's  nymphs.  Her  freedom  was  the  result  of 
her  ignorance;  her  courage  was  the  result  of  her  special 
training,  which  had  not  taught  her  the  subjection  of  the 
sex;  her  liberty  was  not  license,  because  she  did  not,  and 
could  not,  use  it  for  those  purposes  which  schoolgirls 
learn  in  religious  boarding-houses.  She  could  walk  with 
a  curate,  and  often  did,  without  flirting  with  the  holy 
young  man;  she  could  make  Jack  Dunquerque  take  her 
for  a  row  upon  the  river,  and  think  of  nothing  but  the 
beauty  of  the  scene,  her  own  exceeding  pleasure,  and  the 
amiable  qualities  of  her  companion. 

Of  course,  Agatha's  friends  called  upon  her.  Among 
them  were  several  specimens  of  the  British  young  lady. 
Phillis  watched  them   with  much  curiosity,  but  she  could 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  251 

not  get  on  with  them.  They  seemed  mostly  to  be  suffer- 
ing from  feeble  circulation  of  the  pulse;  they  spoke  as  if 
they  enjoyed  nothing;  those  who  were  very  young  kindled 
into  enthusiasm  in  talking  over  things  which  Phillis  knew 
nothing  about,  such  as  dancing — Phillis  was  learning  to 
dance,  but  did  not  yet  comprehend  its  fiercer  joys — and 
sports  in  which  the  other  sex  took  an  equal  part.  Their 
interest  was  small  in  painting;  they  cared  for  nothing  very 
strongly;  their  minds  seemed  for  the  most  part  as  languid 
as  their  bodies.  This  life  at  low  ebb  seemed  to  the  girl 
whose  blood  coursed  freely,  and  tingled  in  her  veins  as  it 
ran,  a  poor  thing;  and  she  mentally  rejoiced  that  her  own 
education  was  not  such  as  theirs.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  were  points  in  which  these  ladies  were  clearly  in  ad- 
vance of  herself.  Phillis  felt  the  cold  ease  of  their  man- 
ner; that  was  beyond  her  efforts;  a  formal  and  mannered 
calm  was  all  she  could  assume  to  veil  the  intensity  of  her 
interest  in  things  and  persons. 

"  But  what  do  they  like,  Agatha  ?"  she  asked  one  day, 
after  the  departure  of  two  young  ladies  of  the  highest 
type. 

"  Well,  dear,  I  hardly  know.  I  should  say  that  they 
have  no  strong  likings  in  any  direction.  After  all,  Phillis 
dear,  those  who  have  the  fewest  desires  enjoy  the  greatest 
happiness. 

"  No,  Agatha,  I  cannot  think  that.  Those  who  want 
most  things  can  enjoy  the  most.  Oh,  that  level  line  ! 
what  can  shake  them  off  it  ?" 

*■  They  are  happier  as  they  are,  dear.  You  have  been 
brought  up  so  differently  that  you  cannot  understand. 
Some  day  they  will  marry.  Then  the  equable  tempera- 
ment in  which  they  have  been  educated  will  stand  them  in 
good  stead  with  their  husbands  and  their  sons." 

Phillis  was  silent,  but  she  was  not  defeated. 

Of  course  the  young  ladies  did  not  like  her  at  all. 

They  were  unequal  to  the  exertion  of  talking  to  a  girl 
who  thought  differently  from  all  other  girls.     Phil    to 


252  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

them,  as  to  all  people  who  are  weak  in  the  imaginative 
faculty,  was  impossible. 

But  bit  by  bit  the  social  education  was  being  filled  in,  and 
Phillis  was  rapidly  becoming  ready  for  the  debut  to  which 
Agatha  looked  forward  with  so  much  interest  and  pride. 

There  remained  another  kind  of  education. 

Brought  up  alone,  with  only  her  maid  of  her  own  age, 
and  only  an  old  man  on  whom  to  pour  out  her  wealth  of 
affection,  this  girl  would,  but  for  her  generous  nature, 
have  grown  up  cold  and  unsympathetic.  She  did  not. 
The  first  touch  of  womanly  love  which  met  her  in  her  es- 
cape from  prison  was  the  kiss  which  Agatha  L'Estrange 
dropped  unthinkingly  upon  her  cheek.  It  was  the  first  of 
many  kisses,  not  formal  and  unmeaning,  which  were  in- 
terchanged between  these  two.  It  is  difficult  to  explain 
the  great  and  rapid  change  the  simple  caresses  of  another 
woman  worked  in  Phillis's  mind.  She  became  softer,  more 
careful  of  what  she  said,  more  thoughtful  of  others. 
She  tried  harder  to  understand  people  ;  she  wanted  to  be 
to  them  all  what  Agatha  L'Estrange  was  to  her. 

One  day,  Agatha,  returning  from  early  church,  whither 
Phillis  would  not  accompany  her,  heard  her  voice  in  the 
kitchen.  She  was  singing  and  laughing.  Agatha  opened 
the  door  and  looked  in. 

Phillis  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  a  group.  Her 
eyes  were  bright  with  a  sort  of  rapture  ;  her  lips  were 
parted  ;  her  long  hair  was  tossing  behind  her  ;  she  was 
singing,  talking,  and  laughing,  all  in  a  breath. 

In  her  arms  she  held  the  most  wonderful  thing  to  a 
woman  which  can  be  seen  on  this  earth. 

A  Baby. 

The  child  of  the  butter-woman.  The  mother  stood  be- 
fore Phillis,  her  pleased  red  face  beaming  with  an  honest 
price.  Phillis's  maid,  Antoinette,  and  Agatha's  three  ser- 
vants, surrounded  these  two,  the  principal  figures.  In  the 
corner,  grinning,  stood  the  coachman.  And  the  baby 
crowed  and  laughed. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  253 

"  Oh,  the  pretty  thing  !  Oh,  the  pretty  thing  !  "  cried 
Phillis,  tossing  the  little  one-year-old,  who  kicked  and 
laughed  and  pulled  at  her  hair.  "  Was  there  ever  such  a 
lovely  child  ?  Agatha,  come  and  see,  come  and  see  ! 
He  talks,  he  laughs,  he  dances  !  " 

"Ah,  madame  !"  said  Antoinette,  wiping  away  a  sympa- 
thetic tear,  "  Dire  que  ma'amsell  n'en  a  jamais  vu  '.  Mais 
non,  mais  non — pas  memes  des  poupees !" 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  Go  seek  your  fortune  f axther  than  at  home." 

LAWRENCE  COLQUHOUN  returned  home  to  find 
himself  famous.  Do  you  remember  a  certain  book 
of  travels  written  four  or  five  years  ago  by  Lord  Milton 
and  Dr.  Cheadle,  in  which  frequent  mention  was  made  of 
un  nomme  Harris,  an  inquiring  and  doubting  Christian, 
who  wore  a  pair  of  one-eyed  spectacles  and  carried  a  vol- 
ume of  Paley  .''  If  that  Harris,  thus  made  illustrious,  had 
suddenly  presented  himself  in  a  London  drawing-room 
while  the  book  was  enjoying  his  first  run,  he  would  have 
met  with  much  the  same  success  which  awaited  Lawrence 
Colquhoun.  Harris  let  his  opportunity  go,  and  never 
showed  up  ;  perhaps  he  is  still  wandering  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains  and  pondermg  over  Paley.  But  Colquhoun 
appeared  while  the  work  of  the  Dragoon  and  the  Younger 
Son  was  still  in  the  mouths  of  men  and  women.  The 
liveliest  thing  in  that  book  is  the  account  of  Empire  City 
and  its  Solitary.  Everybody  whose  memory  can  carry 
him  back  to  last  year's  reading  will  remember  so  much. 
And  everybody  who  knew  Colquhoun  knew  also  that  he 
was  the  Solitary. 

The  Hermit ;  the  man  with  the  Golden  Butterfly,  now 
a  millionaire  ;  the  Golden  Butterfly,  now  in  a  golden  cage 
— all  these  actually  present,  so  to  speak,  in  the  flesh,  and 
ready  to  witness  if  the  authors   lied.     Why,  each  was  an 


254  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

advertisement  of  the  book,  and  if  the  two  Chinamen  had 
been  added,  probably  people  might  be  reading  the  work 
still.     But  they,  poor  fellows,  were  defunct. 

It  annoyed  Lawrence  at  first  to  find  himself,  like  Cam- 
buscan,  with  his  tale  half  told  ;  and  it  was  monotonous  to 
be  always  asked  whether  it  was  really  true,  and  if  he  was 
the  original  Hermit.  But  everything  wears  off;  people  in 
a  week  or  two  began  to  talk  of  something  else,  and  when 
Colquhoun  met  a  man  for  the  first  time  after  his  return  he 
would  startle  and  confuse  that  maa  by  anticipating  his 
question.  He  knew  the  outward  signs  of  its  approach. 
He  would  watch  for  the  smile,  the  look  of  curiosity,  and 
the  parting  of  the  lips  before  they  framed  the  usual 
words  : 

"  By  the  way,  Colquhoun,  is  it  actually  true  that  you  are 
the  Hermit  in  Jack  Dunquerque's  book  ?" 

And  while  the  questioner  was  forming  the  sentence, 
thinking  it  a  perfectly  original  one,  never  asked  before, 
Lawrence  would  answer  it  for  him. 

"  It  is  perfectly  true  that  I  was  the  Hermit.  Now  talk 
of  something  else." 

For  the  rest  he  dropped  into  his  old  place.  Time, 
matrimony,  good  and  evil  hap,  had  made  havoc  among 
his  set  ;  but  there  was  still  some  left.  Club-men  come 
and  club-men  go  ;  but  the  club  goes  on  for  ever. 

Colquhoun  had  the  character  of  being  at  once  thelaziest 
and  the  most  good-natured  of  men.  A  dangerous  reputa- 
tion, because  gratitude  is  a  heavy  burden  to  bear.  If  you 
do  a  man  a  good  turn  he  generally  finds  it  too  irksome  to 
be  grateful,  and  so  becomes  your  enemy.  But  Colquhoun 
cared  little  about  his  reputation. 

When  he  disappeared,  his  friends  for  a  day  or  two  won- 
dered where  he  was.  Thenthey  ceased  to  talk  of  him.  Now 
he  was  come  back  they  were  glad  to  have  him  among  them 
again.  He  was  a  pleasant  addition.  He  was  not  altered 
in  the  least — his  eyes  as  clear  from  crows-feet,  his  beard 
as  silky,  and  his  face  as  cheerful  as   ever.     Some  men's 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  255 

faces  have  got  no  sun  in  them;  they  only  light  up  with 
secret  joy  at  a  friend's  misfortunes;  but  this  is  an  artificial 
fire,  so  to  speak;  it  burns  with  a  baleful  and  lurid  light. 
There  are  others  whose  faces  are  like  the  weather  in  May, 
being  uncertain  and  generally  disagreeable.  But  Law- 
rence Colquhoun's  face  always  had  a  cheerful  brightness. 
It  came  from  an  easy  temper,  a  good  digestion,  a  com- 
fortable income,  and  a  kindly  heart. 

Of  course  he  made  haste  to  find  Gilead  P.  Beck.  Jack 
Dunquerque,  who  forgot  at  the  time  to  make  any  mention 
of  Phillis  Fleming,  informed  him  of  the  Golden  Butterfly's 
wonderful  Luck.  And  they  all  dined  together — the  Her- 
mit, the  Miner,  the  Dragoon,  and  the  Younger  Son. 

They  ran  the  Bear  Hunt  over  again;  they  talked  of 
Empire  City,  and  speculated  on  the  two  Chinamen;  had 
they  known  the  fate  of  the  two,  their  speculations  might 
have  taken  a  wider  range. 

"  It  was  rough  on  me  that  time,"  said  Gilead.  "  It 
had  never  been  so  rough  before,  since  I  began  bumming 
around." 

They  waited  for  more,  and  presently  he  began  to  tell 
them  more.  It  was  the  way  of  the  man.  He  never  in- 
truded his  personal  experiences,  being  for  the  most  part  a 
humble  and'even  a  retiring  man;  but  when  he  was  among 
men  he  knew,  he  delighted  in  his  recollections. 

"  Thirty-three  years  ago  since  I  began.  Twelve  years 
old;  the  youngest  of  the  lot.  And  I  wonder  where  the 
rest  are.  Hiram,  I  know,  sat  down  beside  a  rattle  one 
morning.  He  remembered  he  had  an  appointment  some- 
where else,  and  got  up  in  a  hurry.  But  too  late,  and  his  con- 
stitution broke  up  suddenly.  But  for  the  rest  I  never  did 
know  what  became  of  them.  When  I  go  back  with  that 
almighty  Pile  of  mine,  they  will  find  me  out,  I  dare  say. 
Then  they  will  bring  along  all  their  friends  and  the  rest  of 
the  poor  relations.  The  poorer  the  relations  in  our 
country,  the  more  affectionate  and  self-denying  they  are." 

•*  What  did  you  do  first  ?"  askrd  Ladds. 


a$6  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"Ran  messages;  swept  out  stores;  picked  up  trades; 
went  handy  boy  to  a  railway  engineer;  read  what  I  could 
and  when  I  could.  When  I  was  twenty  I  kept  a  village 
school  at  a  dollar  a  day.  That  was  in  Ohio.  I've  been 
many  things  in  my  pilgrimage  and  tried  to  like  them  all, 
but  that  was  most  too  much  for  me.  Boys  and  geWs, 
Captain  Ladds.  Boys  themselves  are  bad;  but  boys  and 
gells  mixed,  they  air — wal,  it's  a  curious  and  interestin' 
thing  that,  ever  since  that  time,  when  I  see  the  gells 
snoopin'  around  with  their  eyes  as  soft  as  velvet,  and  their 
sweet   cheeks    the    colour  of    peach,    I  say  to   myself, 

*  Shoddy.  It  is  shoddy.  I've  seen  you  at  school,  and 
I  know  you  better  than  you  think.'     As  the   poet  says, 

♦  Let  gells  delight  to  bark  and  bite,  for  'tis  their  nature  to.' 
You  believe,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  because  you  are  young  and 
inexperienced,  that  gells  air  soft.  Air  they  ?  Soft  as  the 
shell  of  a  clam.  And  tender  ?  Tender  as  hickory-nut. 
Air  they  gentle,  unselfish,  and  yieldin'  ?  As  rattlesnakes. 
The  child  is  mother  to  the  woman,  as  the  poet  says;  and 
school-gells  grow  up  mostly  into  women.  They're  sweet 
to  look  at;  but  when  you've  tended  school,  you  feel  to 
know  them.  And  then  you  don't  yearn  after  them  so 
much, 

"  There  was  once  a  boy  I  liked.  He  was  eighteen^ 
stood  six  foot  high  in  his  stocking-boots,  and  his  name 
was  Pete  Conkling.  The  lessons  that  boy  taught  me 
were  useful  in  my  after  life.  We  began  it  every  morning 
at  five  minutes  past  nine.  Any  little  thing  set  us  off.  He 
might  heave  a  desk,  or  a  row  of  books,  or  the  slates  of  the 
whole  class  at  my  head.  I  might  go  for  him  first.  It  was 
uncertain  how  it  began,  but  the  fight  was  bound  to  be 
fought.  The  boys  expected  it,  and  it  pleased  the  gells. 
Sometim.es  it  took  me  half  an  hour,  and  sometimes  the 
whole  morning,  to  wallop  that  boy.  When  it  was  done, 
Pete  would  take  his  place  among  the  little  gells,  for  he 
never  could  learn  anything,  and  school  would  begin.  To 
see  him  after  it  was  over  sitting  alongside  of  little  Hepzi- 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  257 

bah  and  Keziah,  as  meek  as  if  he'd  never  heard  of  a  black 
eye,  and  never  seen  the  human  fist,  was  one  of  my  few 
joys.  I  was  fond  of  Pete,  and  he  was  fond  of  me.  Ways 
Hke  his,  gentlemen,  kinder  creep  round  the  heart  of  the 
lonely  teacher.  Very  fond  of  him  I  grew.  But  I  got 
restless  and  dug  out  for  another  place;  it  was  when  I 
went  on  the  boards  and  became  an  actor,  I  think;  and  it 
was  close  on  fifteen  years  afterwards  that  I  met  him. 
Then  he  was  lying  on  the  slopes  of  Gettysburg — it  was 
after  the  last  battle — and  his  eyes  were  turned  up  to  the 
sky;  one  of  them,  I  noticed,  was  black;  so  that  he  had 
kept  up  his  fighting  to  the  end.  For  he  was  stark  dead, 
with  a  Confed.  bullet  in  his  heart.     Poor  Pete  !" 

"You  fought  for  the  North?"  asked  one  of  his  audi- 
ence. 

"  I  was  a  Northerner,"  he  replied  simply.  How  could 
he  help  taking  his  part  in  maintaining  undivided  that  fair 
realm  of  America,  which  every  one  of  his  countrymen 
love  as  Queen  Elizabeth's  yeoman  loved  the  realm  of 
England  ?  We  have  no  yeomen  now,  which  is  perhaps 
one  of  the  reasons  why  we  could  not  understand  the  cause 
of  the  North. 

"  I  worried  through  that  war  without  a  scratch.  We  got 
wary  towards  the  end,  and  let  the  bullets  drop  into  trunks 
of  trees  for  choice.  And  when  it  was  over,  I  was  five- 
and-thirty,  and  had  to  begin  the  world  again.  But  I  was 
used  to  it." 

"  And  you  enjoyed  a  wandering  life  ?" 

**  Yej;,  I  believe  I  did  enjoy  barking  up  a  new  tree. 
There's  a  breed  ot  Americans  who  can't  keep  still.  I 
belong  to  that  breed.  We  do  not  like  to  sit  by  a  river  and 
watch  the  water  flow;  we  get  tired  livin'  in  the  village 
lookin'  in  each  other's  faces  while  the  seasons  come  round 
like  the  hands  of  a  clock.  There's  a  mixture  among  us  of 
Dutch  and  German  and  English  to  sit  quiet  and  till  the 
ground.  They  get  their  heels  well  grounded  in  the  clay, 
and  there  they  stick." 


258  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  Where  do  you  get  it  from,  the  wandering  blood  ?" 
asked  Colquhoun. 

Gilead  P.  Beck  became  solemn. 

"  There  air  folk  among  us,"  he  whispered,  "  Who  hold 
that  we  are  descended  from  the  Ten  Tribes.  I  don't  say 
those  folk  are  right,  but  I  do  say  that  it  sometimes  looks 
powerful  like  as  if  they  were.  Descended  from  the  Ten 
Tribes,  the}^  say,  and  miraculously  kept  separate  from  the 
English  among  whom  they  lived.  Lost  their  own  lan- 
guage— which,  if  it  was  Hebrew,  I  take  it  was  rather  a 
good  thing  to  be  quit  of — and  speakin'  English,  like  the 
rest.  What  were  the  tribes  ?  Wanderers,  mostly.  Father 
Abraham  went  drivin'  his  cows  and  his  camels  up  and 
down  the  country.  Isaac  went  around  on  the  rove,  and 
Jacob  couldn't  sit  still.  Very  well,  then.  Didn't  their 
children  walk  about,  tryin'  one  location  after  another,  for 
forty  years,  and  always  feelin'  after  a  bit  as  if  there  must 
be  a  softer  plank  farther  on  ?  And  when  they'd  be  settled 
down  for  a  few  hundred  years,  didn't  they  get  up  and 
disappear  altogether  ?  Mark  you,  they  didnt  want  to 
settle.  And  where  are  the  Ten  Tribes  now  ?  For  they 
never  went  back;  you  may  look  Palesteen  through  and 
through,  and  nary  a  tribe." 

He  looked  round  asking  the  question  generally,  but  no 
one  ventured  to  answer  it. 

"  Our  folk,  who  have  mostly  gut  religion,  point  to  them- 
selves. They  say  ;  *  Look  at  us;  we  air  the  real  original 
Wanderers.'  Look  at  us  all  over  the  world.  What  are  the 
hotels  full  of  ?  Full  of  Americans.  We  are  everywhere. 
We  eat  up  the  milk  and  the  honey,  and  we  tramp  off  on 
ramble  again.  But  there's  more  points  of  gen'ral  resem- 
blance. We  like  bounce  and  bunkum;  so  did  those  people 
down  in  Syria;  we  like  to  pile  up  the  dollars;  so  did  the 
Jews;  they  liked  to  set  up  their  kings  and  pull  them  down 
again;  we  pursue  the  same  generous  and  confiding  policy 
with  our  presidents;  and  if  they  were  stiff-necked  and 
backsliding,  we  are  as  stiff-necked  and  backsliding  as  any 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  259 

generation  amonjj  all  the  lot." 

"  A  very  good  case,  indeed,"  said  Colquhoun. 

"  I  did  not  think  so,  sir,  till  lately.  But  it's  been  bome 
in  upon  me  with  the  weight  and  force  that  can't  be  re- 
sisted, and  I  believe  it  now.  The  lost  Ten  Tribes,  gen- 
tlemen, air  now  located  in  the  United  States.  I  am  certain 
of  it  from  my  own  case.  Do  any  of  you  think — I  put  it  to 
you  seriously — that  such  an  inseck  as  the  Golden  Butterfly 
would  have  been  thrown  away  upon  an  outsider  ?  It  is 
likely  that  such  all-fired  Luck  as  mine  would  have  been 
wasted  on  a  man  who  didn't  belong  to  the  Chosen 
People?  No,  sir;  I  am  of  the  children  of  Israel;  and  I 
freeze  to  that." 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

Animum  plctura  pascit  Inanl.." 

WHEN  Panurge  was  in  that  dreadful  difficulty  of  his 
about  marrying  he  took  counsel  of  all  his  friends. 
Pantagruel,  as  we  know,  advised  him  alternately  for  and 
against,  according  to  the  view  taken  at  the  moment  by 
his  versatile  dependent.  Gilead  Beck  was  so  far  in 
Panurge's  position  that  he  asked  advice  of  all  his  friends. 
Mr.  Cassilis  recommended  him  to  wait  and  look  about  him; 
meantime,  he  took  his  money  for  investment;  and,  as 
practice  makes  perfect,  and  twice  or  thrice  makes  a  habit, 
he  found  now  no  difficulty  in  making  Mr.  Beck  give  him 
cheques  without  asking  their  amount  or  their  object,  while 
the  American  Fortunatus  easily  fell  into  the  habit  of  sign- 
ing them  without  question.  He  was  a  Fool  ?  No  doubt. 
The  race  is  a  common  one;  especially  common  is  that 
kind  of  Fool  which  is  suspicious  from  long  experience, 
but  which,  having  found,  as  he  thinks,  a  fellow-creature 
worthy  of  trust,  places  entire  and  perfect  trust  in  him,  and 


36o  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY 

SO,  like  a  ship  riding  at  anchor  with  a  single  stout  cable, 
laughs  at  danger  even  while  the  wind  is  blowing,  beam 
on,  to  a  lee  shore.  Perfect  faith  is  so  beautiful  a  thing 
that  neither  religionists  who  love  to  contemplate  it,  nor 
sharpers  who  profit  by  it,  would  willingly  let  it  die  out. 

Lawrence  Colquhoun  recommended  pictures. 

"  You  may  as  well  spend  your  money  on  Artists  as  on 
any  other  people.  They  are  on  the  whole  a  pampered 
folk,  and  get  much  too  well  paid.  But  a  good  picture  is 
generally  a  good  investment.  And  then  you  will  become 
a  patron  and  form  a  gallery  of  your  own,  the  Beck  collec- 
tion, to  hand  down  to  posterity." 

"I  can't  say.  Colonel — not  with  truth — that  I  know  a 
good  picture  from  a  bad  one.  I  once  tried  sign  painting. 
But  the  figures  didn't  come  out  right,  somehow.  Looked 
easy  to  do,  too.  Seems  I  didn't  know  about  Perspective, 
and  besides,  the  colours  got  mixed.  Sign-painting  is  not 
a  walk  in  life  that  I  should  recommend  from  personal  ex- 
perience. 

But  the  idea  took  root  in  his  brain. 

Jack  Dunquerque  encouraged  it. 

"  You  see.  Beck,"  he  said,  "  you  may  as  well  form  a 
gallery  of  paintings  as  anything  else.  Buy  modern  pict- 
ures; don't  buy  Old  Masters,  because  you  will  be  cheated. 
The  modern  pictures  will  be  old  in  a  hundred  years,  and 
then  your  collection  will  be  famous." 

"  I  want  to  do  my  work  in  my  own  Ufetime,"  said  the 
millionaire.  He  was  a  man  of  many  ideas  but  few  con- 
victions, the  strongest  being  that  man  ought  to  do  what 
he  has  to  do  in  his  own  lifetime,  and  not  to  devise  and 
bequeath  for  posthumous  reputation. 

"  Why,  and  so  you  would.  You  buy  the  pictures  while 
you  are  living;  when  you  go  off,  the  pictures  remain." 

A  patron  of  Art.  The  very  name  flattered  his  vanity, 
being  a  thing  he  had  read  of,  and  his  imagination  leaped 
up  to  the  possibilities  of  the  thing.  Why  should  he  not 
collect  for  his  own  country  ?     He  saw  himself,  like  Stew- 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  261 

art,  returning  to  New  York  with  a  shipload  of  precious 
Ar:  treasures  bought  in  London;  he  saw  his  agent  ran- 
sacking the  studios  and  shops  of  Florence,  Naples,  Rome, 
Dresden — wherever  painters  congregate  and  pictures  are 
sold;  he  imagined  rich  argosies  coming  to  him  across  the 
ocean — the  American  looks  across  the  ocean  for  the  luxu- 
ries and  graces  of  life,  his  wines,  his  Art,  and  his  litera- 
ture. Then  he  saw  a  great  building,  grander  than  the 
Capitol  at  Washington,  erected  by  a  grateful  nation  for 
the  reception  of  the  Gilead  P.  Beck  Collection  of  Ancient 
and  Modern  Paintings. 

Now  one  of  the  earliest  callers  upon  Mr.  Beck  was  a 
certain  picture-dealer  named  Burls.  Mr.  Burls  and  his 
fraternity  regard  rich  Americans  with  peculiar  favour.  It 
is  said  to  have  been  Bartholomew  Burls  who  invented  es- 
pecially for  American  use  the  now  well-known  "multipli- 
cation "  dodge.  The  method  is  this.  You  buy  a  work  by 
a  rising  artist,  one  whose  pictures  may  be  at  some  future 
time,  but  are  not  yet,  sufficiently  known  to  make  their 
early  wanderings  matter  of  notoriety.  One  of  your  young 
men — he  must  be  a  safe  hand  and  a  secret — make  two, 
three,  or  four  copies,  the  number  depending  on  the  area, 
rather  than  the  number,  of  your  clientele.  You  keep  the 
Artist's  receipt,  a  proof  of  the  genuineness  of  the  picture. 
The  copies,  name  and  all,  are  so  well  done  that  even  the 
painter  himself  would  be  puzzled  to  know  his  own.  You 
then  proceed  to  place  your  pictures  at  good  distances 
from  each  other,  representing  each  as  genuine.  It  is  a 
simple,  beautiful,  and  lucrative  method.  Not  so  profita- 
ble, perhaps,  as  cleaning  oil-paintings,  which  takes  half  an 
hour  apiece  and  is  charged  from  ten  shillings  to  ten 
pounds,  according  to  the  dealer's  belief  in  your  power  to 
pay.  Nor  is  it  more  profitable  than  the  manufacture  of  a 
Correggio  or  a  Cuyp  for  a  guileless  cotton  manufacturer, 
and  there  is  certainly  a  glow  of  pride  to  be  obtained  by 
the  successful  conversion  of  a  new  into  an  old  picture  by 
the  aid  of  mastic  varnish,  mixed  with  red  and  yellow  lake 


263  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

to  tone  it  down,  and  the  simple  shaking  of  a  door-mat 
over  it.  But  then  people  have  grown  warj',  and  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  catch  a  purchaser  of  a  Correggio,  for  which  a  large 
sum  has  to  be  asked.  The  multiplication  dodge  is  the 
simpler  and  the  safer. 

Mr.  Beck,  as  has  been  already  shown,  was  by  no  means 
deficient  in  a  certain  kind  of  culture.  He  had  read  such 
books  as  fell  in  his  way  during  his  wandering  and  adven- 
turous life.  His  reading  was  thus  miscellaneous.  He 
had  been  for  a  short  time  an  actor,  and  thus  acquired  a 
little  information  concerning  dramatic  literature.  He  had 
been  on  a  newspaper,  one  of  the  rank  and  file  as  well  as 
an  editor.  He  knew  a  good  deal  about  many  things, 
arts,  customs,  and  trades.  But  of  one  thing  he  was  pro- 
foundly ignorant,  and  that  was  of  painting. 

He  looked  at  Burls'  card,  however — "  Bartholomew 
Burls  and  Co.,  Church  Street,  City,  Inventors  of  the  only 
safe  and  perfect  Method  of  Cleaning  Oil  Paintings  " — 
and,  accompanied  by  Jack  Dunquerque,  who  knew  about 
as  much  of  pictures  as  himself,  hunted  up  the  shop,  and 
entered  it  with  the  meekness  of  a  pigeon  about  to  be 
plucked. 

They  stood  amid  a  mass  of  pictures,  the  like  of  which 
Gilead  Beck  had  never  before  conceived.  They  were 
hanging  on  the  walls  ;  they  were  piled  on  the  floor  ;  they 
were  stretched  across  the  ceiling  ;  they  climbed  the  stairs; 
they  were  hiding  away  in  dark  corners  ;  a  gaping  door- 
way lit  with  gas  showed  a  cellar  below  where  they  were 
stacked  in  hundreds.  Pictures  of  all  kinds.  The  shop 
was  rather  dark,  though  the  sun  of  May  was  pouring  a 
flood  of  light  even  upon  the  narrow  City  streets.  But  you 
could  make  out  something.  There  were  portraits  in  hun- 
dreds. The  effigies  of  dead  men  and  women  stared  at 
you  from  every  second  frame.  Your  ancestor — Mr.  Burls 
was  very  particular  in  ascertaining  beyond  a  doubt  that  it 
was  your  own  ancestor,  and  nobody  else's — frowned  at  you 
in  bright  steel  armour  with  a  Vandyke  beard;  or  he  pre- 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  263 

sented  a  shaven  face  with  full  cheeks  and  a  Ramillies  wig; 
or  he  smirked  upon  you  from  a  voluminous  white  scarf 
and  a  coat-collar  which  rose  to  the  top  of  his  head.  The 
ladies  of  your  family — Mr.  Burls  was  very  particular,  be- 
fore selling  you  one,  in  ascertaining  beyond  a  doubt  that 
she  belonged  to  your  own  branch  of  the  house,  and  none 
other — smiled  upon  you  with  half-closed  lids,  like  the  con- 
sort of  Potiphar,  the  Egyptian  ;  or  they  frisked  as  shep- 
hefdesses  in  airy  robes,  conscious  of  their  charms  ;  or 
they  brandished  full-blown  petticoats,  compared  with  which 
crinolines  were  graceful  ,  or  they  blushed  in  robes  which 
fell  tightly  about  the  figure,  and  left  the  waist  beneath  the 
arms.  Name  any  knight,  or  mayor,  or  court  beauty,  or 
famous  toast  among  your  ancestry  whose  portrait  is  want- 
ing to  your  gallery,  and  Burls,  the  great  genealogical  col- 
lector, will  find  you  before  many  weeks  that  missing  link 
in  the  family  history.  Besides  the  portraits,  there  were 
landscapes,  nymphs  bathing.  Venuses  asleep,  Venuses 
with  a  looking-glass,  Venuses  of  all  sorts  ;  scenes  from 
Don  Quixote  s  Actgeons  surprising  Dianas  ;  battle-pieces, 
sea-pieces,  river-pieces  ;  "bits''  of  Hampstead  Heath,  and 
boats  on  the  Thames. 

Mr  Beck  looked  round  him,  stroked  his  chin,  and  ad- 
dressed the  guardian  of  this  treasure-house  : 

•*  I  am  going  to  buy  pictures,"  he  began  comprehen- 
sively.     'You  air  the  Boss?" 

"  This  gentleman  means,"  Jack  explained,  '  that  he 
wants  to  look  at  your  pictures  with  a  view  to  buying  some 
if  he  approves  of  them.  ' 

The  man  in  the  shop  was  used  to  people  who  would 
buy  one  picture  after  a  whole  morning's  haggling,  but  he 
was  not  accustomed  to  people  who  wanted  to  buy  pictures 
generally.  He  looked  astonished,  and  then,  with  a  circu- 
lar sweep  of  of  his  right  hand,  indicated  that  here  were 
pictures,  and  all  Mr.  Beck  had  to  do  was  to  go  in  and  buy 
them. 

"  Look   round  you,  gentlemen,"  he  said  ;  "  pray  look 


264  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

round  you  ;  and  the  more  you  buy,  the  better  we  shall 
like  it." 

Then  he  became  aware  that  the  elder  speaker  was  an 
American,  and  he  suddenly  changed  his  front. 

**  Our  chicer  pictures,"  he  explained,  "  are  up  stairs.  I 
should  like  you  to  look  at  them  first.  Will  you  step  up, 
gentlemen  ?" 

On  the  stairs,  more  pictures.  On  the  landing,  more 
pictures.  On  the  stairs  mounting  higher,  more  pictures. 
But  they  stopped  on  the  first  floor.  Mr.  Burls  and  his 
assistants  never  invited  any  visitors  to  the  second  and 
third  floors,  because  these  rooms  were  sacred  to  the  manu- 
facture of  old  pictures,  the  multiplication  of  new,  and 
the  sacred  processes  of  cleaning,  lining,  and  restoring. 
In  the  first-floor  rooms  were  fewer  pictures  but  more 
light. 

One  large  composition  immediately  caught  Mr.  Beck's 
eye.  A  noble  picture  ;  a  grand  picture  ;  a  picture  whose 
greatness  of  conception  was  equalled  by  its  boldness  of 
treatment.  It  occupied  the  whole  of  one  side  of  the  wall, 
and  might  have  measured  twenty  feet  in  length  by  four- 
teen in  height.  The  subject  was  scriptural — the  slaying 
of  Sisera  by  Jael,  Heber  the  Kenite's  wife.  The  defeated 
general  lay  stretched  on  the  couch,  occupying  a  good  ten 
feet  of  the  available  space.  Beside  him  stood  the  woman, 
a  majestic  figure,  with  a  tent-peg  and  a  mallet,  about  to 
commit  that  famous  breach  of  hospitality.  The  handle  of 
the  mallet  was  rendered  most  conscientiously,  and  had 
(evidently  been  copied  from  a  model.  Through  the  open 
hangings  of  the  tent  were  visible  portions  of  the  army 
chasing  the  fugitives  and  lopping  off  their  heads. 

"  That  seems  a  striking  picture,"  said  Mr.  Beck.  "  I 
take  that  picture,  sir,  to  represent  George  Washington 
after  the  news  of  the  surrender  at  Saratoga,  or  General 
Jackson  after  the  battle  of  New  Orleans." 

"  Grant  after  Gettysburg,"  suggested  Jack. 

"  No,  sir.     I  was  at   Gettysburg  myself  ;  and  the  hero 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  265 

asleep  on  the  bed,  making  every  allowance  for  his  fancy- 
dress,  which  I  take  to  be  allegorical,  is  not  at  all  like 
General  Ulysses  Grant,  nor  is  he  like  General  Sherman. 
The  young  female,  I  s'pose,  is  Liberty,  with  a  hammer  in 
one  hand,  and  a  dagger  in  the  other.  Too  much  limb  for 
an  American  gell,  and  the  flesh  is  redder  than  one  could 
wish.  But  on  the  hull  a  striking  picture.  What  may  be 
the  value  of  this  composition,  mister?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.  Not  Washington,  sir,  nor 
General  Jackson,  though  we  can  procure  you  in  a  very 
short  time  fine  portraits  of  both  these  'eroes.  This,  gentle- 
men, is  a  biblical  subject.  Cicero,  overtaken,  by  sleep 
while  in  jail,  about  to  be  slain  by  'Eber  the  wife  of  the 
Kenite.  That  is  'Eber,  with  the  'eavy  'ammer  in  'er  'and. 
The  Kenite  belonged,  as  I  have  always  understood — for  I 
don't  remember  the  incident  myself — to  the  opposite  fac- 
tion. That  splendid  masterpiece,  gentlemen,  has  been 
valued  at  five  'undred.  For  a  town'all,  or  for  an  altar- 
piece,  it  would  be  priceless.  To  let  it  go  at  anything  un- 
der five  'undred  would  be  a  sin  and  a  shame,  besides  a- 
throwing  away  of  money.  Look  at  the  light  and  shade. 
Look  at  'Eber's  arm  and  Cicero's  leg.  That  leg  alone  has 
been  judged  by  connisseers  worth  all  the  money.' 

Mr.  Beck  was  greatly  disappointed  in  the  subject  and 
in  the  price;  even  had  it  been  the  allegorical  picture  which 
he  thought,  he  was  not  yet  sufficiently  educated  in  the 
prices  of  pictures  to  offer  five  hundred  for  it ;  and  when 
Mr.  Burlss  assistant  spoke  of  pounds,  Mr.  Beck  thought 
dollars.     So  he  replied  : 

"  Five  hundred  dollars  ?  I  will  give  you  five-and- 
twenty." 

*'  That,"  interposed  Jack  Dunquerque,  "  is  a  five-pound 
note.  " 

"  Then,  by  gad,  sir,"  said  the  man,  with  alacrity,  "it'a 
yours  !  It  s  been  hangin'  there  for  ten  years,  and  never  an 
offer  yet.     It's  yours  !" 

This  splendid  painting,  thus  purchased  at   the  rate  oi 


266  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTtRFLY, 

rather  more  than  threepence  a  square  foot,  was  the  acqui- 
sition made  by  Mr.  Beck  towards  his  great  Gallery  of 
Ancient  and  Modern  Masters 

He  paid  for  it  on  the  spot  calling  Jack  to  witness  the 
transaction. 

"  We  will  send  it  up  to  the  hotel  to-morrow,"  said  the 
man. 

"  I  shall  have  it  fixed  right  away  along  the  side  of  my 
room,"  said  Mr.  Beck.     "  Should  it  be  framed  ? " 

"  I  should  certainly  have  it  framed,"  said  Jack. 

"Yes,  sir;  we  shall  be  happy  to  frame  it  for  you." 

"  I  dare  say  you  would,"  Jack  went  on.  "  This  is  a  job 
for  a  house-carpenter,  Mr.  Beck.  You  will  have  to  build 
the  frame  for  this  gigantic  picture.  Have  it  sent  over,  and 
consider  the  frame  afterwards." 

This  course  was  approved  ;  but,  for  reasons  which  will 
subsequently  appear,  the  picture  never  was  framed. 

The  dealer  proceeded  to  show  other  pictures. 

"  A  beautiful  Nicolas  Pushing — '  Nymphs  and  Satyrs  in 
a  Bacchanalian  Dance  ' — a  genuine  thing." 

"  I  don't  think  much  of  that,  Mr.  Dunquerque  ;  do  you? 
The  Nymphs  haven't  finished  dressing;  and  the  gentlemen 
with  the  goats'  legs  may  be  satires  on  human  nature,'  but 
they  are  not  pretty.  Let  us  go  on  to  the  next  show  in  the 
caravan,  mister." 

"  This  is  Hetty.  In  the  master's  best  style.  '  Graces 
surprised  while  Bathing  in  the  River.'  Much  admired  by 
connisseers." 

"  No,  sir:  not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Beck  severely.  "J/y 
gallery  is  going  to  elevate  the  morals  of  our  gells  and 
boys.  It's  a  pretty  thing,  too,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  and  I 
sometimes  think  it's  a  pity  morality  was  ever  invented. 
Now,  Boss." 

"  Quite  so,  sir.  Hetty  is,  as  you  say — rayther — What 
do  you  think  of  this,  now — a  lovely  Grooze  ?" 

"  Grooze,"  said  Mr.  Beck,  "  is  French,  I  suppose,  for 
gell.     Yes,  now  that's  a  real  pretty  picture;  I  call  that  a 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  iG^ 

picture  you  ain't  ashamed  to  admire;  there's  lips  you  can 
kiss;  there's  a  chin  you  can  chuck  " 

"  How  about  the  morals  ?"  asked  Jack. 

"  Wal,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  we'll  buy  the  picture  first,  and 
we'll  see  how  it  rhymes  with  morals  afterwards.  There's 
eyes  to  look  into  a  man's.  Any  more  heads  of  pretty 
Groozes,  mister  ?     I'll  buy  the  lot." 

"  This  is  a  Courage-oh  !"  the  exhibitor  went  on,  after 
expressing  his  sorrow  that  he  had  no  more  Groozes,  and 
bringing  out  a  Madonna.  "  Thought  to  be  genuine  by 
the  best  judges.  History  of  the  picture  unknown  redooces 
the  value." 

"  I  can't  go  fooling  around  with  copies  in  my  gallery," 
said  Mr.  Beck.  "  I  must  have  genuine  pictures,  or 
none." 

"  Then  we  will  not  offer  you  that  Madonna,  sir.  I  think 
I  have  something  here  to  suit  you,  Come  this  way.  A 
Teniers,  gentlemen — a  real  undoubted  gem  of  Teniers. 
This  is  a  picture  now  for  any  gentleman's  collection.  It 
came  from  the  gallery  of  a  nobleman  lately  deceased,  and 
was  bought  at  the  sale  by  Mr.  Burls  himself,  who  knows  a 
picture  when  he  sees  one.  Mr.  Bartholomew  Burls,  our 
senior  partner,  gentlemen.     *  The  Bagpipe-player.'  " 

It  was  an  excellent  imitation,  but  of  a  well-known 
picture,  and  it  required  consummate  impudence  to  pretend 
that  it  was  original. 

"  Oh,"  said  Jack,  *'  but  I  have  seen  this  somewhere  else. 
In  the  Louvre,  I  believe." 

"  Very  likely,  sir,"  replied  the  unabashed  vendor. 
Teniers  painted  six  hundred  pictures.  There  was  a  good 
many  '  Bagpipe-players'  among  them.  One  is  in  the 
Louvre.    This  is  another." 

On  the  advice  of  Jack  Dunquerque  Mr.  Beck  refrained 
from  buying,  and  contented  himself  with  selecting,  with 
the  option  of  purchase.  When  they  left  the  shop,  some 
twenty  pictures  were  thus  selected. 

The  seller,  who  had  a  small  interest  or  commission  on 


268  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

sales,  as  soon  as  their  steps  were  fairly  out  of  the  shop, 
executed  a  short  dance  indicative  of  joy.  Then  he  called 
up  the  stairs,  and  a  man  came  slowly  down. 

A  red-nosed  bibulous  person,  by  name  Critchett,  He 
was  manufacturer  of  old  masters  in  ordinary  to  Bartholo- 
mew Burls  and  Co.;  cleaned  and  restored  pictures  when 
other  orders  were  slack,  and  was  excellent  at  "  multiplica- 
tion." He  had  worked  for  Burls  for  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury, save  for  a  few  weeks,  when  one  Frank  Melliship,  a 
young  gentleman  then  down  on  his  luck,  worked  in  his 
stead.  A  trustworthy  and  faithful  creature,  though  given 
to  drink;  he  could  lie  like  an  echo;  was  as  incapable  of 
blushing  as  the  rock  on  which  the  echo  plays;  and  bore 
cross-examination  like  a  Claimant. 

"  Come  down,  Critchett — come  down.  We've  soid 
'  Cicero  and  'Eber.'  " 

"  '  Sisera  and  Jael.'  " 

"  Well,  it  don't  matter — and  I  said  Cicero  in  Jail.' 
They've  gone  for  five  pounds.  The  governor  he  always 
said  I  could  take  whatever  was  offered,  and  keep  it  for 
myself.  Five  pounds  in  my  pocket !  Your  last  Teniers 
• — that  old  bagpipe-party — I  tried  him,  but  it  was  no  go. 
But  I've  sold  the  only  one  left  of  your  Groozes,  and  you 
had  better  make  a  few  more,  out  of  hand.  Look  here, 
Critchett :  it  isn't  right  to  drink  in  hours,  and  the  guv'nor 
out  and  all;  but  this  is  an  occasion.  This  ain't  a  common 
day,  because  I've  sold  the  Cicero.  I  won't  ask  you  to 
torse,  nor  yet  to  pay;  but  I  says,  *  Critchett,  come  across 
the  way,  my  boy,  and  put  your  lips  to  what  you  like  best.' 
Lord,  Lord  !  on'y  give  me  an  American,  and  give  him  to 
me  green  !  Never  mind  your  hat,  Critchett.  '  It's  limp 
in  the  brim  and  it's  gone  in  the  rim,'  as  the  poet  says; 
and  you  look  more  respectable  without  it,  Critchett." 

"  That's  a  good  beginning,"  Beck  observed,  after 
luncheon.  They  were  in  Jack  Dunquerque's  club,  in  the 
smoking  room.  "That's  a  first-rate  beginning.  How 
many  pictures  go  to  a  gallery  ?" 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  269 

"  It  depends  on  the  size  of  it.  About  five  hundred  for 
a  moderate-sized  one." 

Mr.  Beck  whistled. 

"  Never  mind.  The  He  pays  for  all.  A  Patron  of  Art. 
Yes,  sir,  that  seems  the  right  end  of  the  stick  for  a  rich 
man  to  keep  up.  But  I've  been  thinking  it  over.  It 
isn't  enough  to  go  to  shops  and  buy  pictures.  We  must 
go  in  for  sculpting  too,  and  a  Patron  ought  to  get  hold  of 
a  struggling  artist,  and  lend  him  a  helping  hand;  he  should 
advance  unknown  talent.     That's  my  idea." 

"  I  think  I  can  help  you  there,"  said  Jack,  his  eyes 
twinkling.  "  I  know  just  such  a  man;  an  artist  unknown, 
without  friends,  with  slender  means,  of  great  genius,  who 
has  long  languished  in  obscurity." 

"  Bring  him  to  me,  Mr.  Dunquerque.  Bring  that  young 
man  to  me.  Let  me  be  the  means  of  pushing  the  young 
gentleman.  Holy  thunder !  what  is  money  if  it  isn't 
used.     Tell  me  his  name." 

"  I  think  I  ought  to  have  spoken  to  him  first,"  said 
Jack,  in  some  confus,ion,  and  a  little  taken  aback  by  Mr; 
Beck's  determination.  "  But,  however,  you  can  only  try. 
His  name  is  Humphrey  Jagenal.  I  will,  if  you  please,  go 
and  see  him  to-day.  And  I  will  ask  him  to  call  upon  you 
to-morrow  morning." 

"  I  would  rather  call  upon  him"  said  Mr.  Beck.  "  It 
might  look  like  the  pride  of  patronage  asking  him  to  call 
at  the  Langham.  I  don't  want  him  to  start  with  a  feeling 
of  shame." 

"Not  at  all;  at  least,  of  course,  it  will  be  patronage, 
and  I  believe  he  will  prefer  it.  There  is  no  shame  in 
taking  a  commission  to  execute  a  picture." 

"  Mr.  Dunquerque,  every  day  you  confer  fresh  obliga- 
tions upon  me.  And  I  can  do  nothing  for  you — nothing 
at  all." 

At  this  time  it  was  Gilead  Beck's  worst  misfortune  that 
he  was  not  taken  seriously  by  any  one  except  Gabriel 
Cassilis,  who  literally  and  liberally  interpreted  his  permis- 


270  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

sion  to  receive  all  his  money  for  safe  investment.  But  as 
for  his  schemes,  vague  and  shadowy  as  they  were,  for 
using  his  vast  income  for  some  practically  philanthropic 
and  benevolent  objects,  none  of  his  friends  sympathised 
with  him,  because  none  of  them  understood  him.  Yet  the 
man  was  deeply  in  earnest.  He  meant  what  he  said,  and 
more,  when  he  told  Gabriel  Cassilis  that  a  voice  urged 
him  by  day  and  by  night  not  to  save  his  money,  but  to  use 
for  others  what  he  could  not  use  himself.  He  had  been 
two  months  in  England  on  purpose  to  learn  a  way,  but 
saw  no  way  yet.  And  every  way  seemed  barred.  He 
would  not  give  money  to  societies,  because  they  were 
societies;  he  wanted  to  strike  out  something  new  for  him- 
self. Nor  would  he  elaborate  a  scheme  to  be  carried  out 
after  his  death.  Let  every  man,  he  repeated  every  day, 
do  what  he  has  to  do  in  his  lifetime.  How  was  he  to 
spend  his  great  revenues  ?  A  Patron  of  Art  ?  It  was  the 
first  tangible  method  that  he  had  struck  upon.  He  would 
be  that  to  begin  with.  Art  has  the  great  advantage,  too, 
of  swallowing  up  any  conceivable  quantity  of  money. 

And  on  the  way  from  the  Burls's  Depot  of  Real  and 
Genuine  Art,  he  hit  upon  the  idea  of  advancing  artists  as 
well  as  Art.  He  was  in  thorough  earnest  when  he  raised 
his  grave  and  now  solemn  eyes  to  J'^ck  Dunquerque,  and 
thanked  him  for  his  kindness.  And  Jack's  conscience 
smote  him. 

"  I  must  tell  you,"  Jack  explained,  "  that  I  have  never 
seen  any  of  Mr.  Humphrey  Jagenal's  pictures.  Miss 
Fleming,  the  young  lady  whom  you  met  at  Mrs.  Cassilis's, 
told  me  once  that  he  was  a  great  artist." 

"  Bring  him  to  me,  bring  him  to  me,  and  we  will  talk. 
I  hope  that  I  may  be  able  to  speak  clearly  to  him  without 
hurting  his  feelin's.  If  I  brag  about  my  Pile,  Mr. 
Dunquerque,  you  just  whisper  *  Shoddy,*  and  I'll  sing 
small." 

"  There  will  be  no  hurting  of  feelings.  When  you 
come  to  a  question  of  buying  and  selling,  an  artist  is  about 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  271 

the  same  as  everybody  else.  Give  him  a  big  commission; 
let  him  have  time  to  work  it  out ;  and  send  him  a  cheque 
in  advance.  I  believe  that  would  be  the  method  employed 
by  patrons  whom  artists  love.  At  least,  I  should  love  such 
a  patron. 

"  Beck,"  he  went  on  after  a  pause  :  both  were  seated  in 
the  long  deep  easy-chairs  of  the  club  smoking-room,  with 
the  chairs  pretty  close  together,  so  that  they  could  talk  in 
low  tones, — '*  Beck,  if  you  talk  about  artists,  there's  Phil 
— I  mean  Miss  Fleming.  By  Jove  !  she  only  wants  a  little 
training  to  knock  the  heads  off  half  the  R.A.s.  Come 
out  with  me  and  call  upon  her.  She  will  show  us  her 
sketches." 

"  I  remember  her,"  said  Gilead  Beck  slowly  ;  **  a  tall 
young  lady  ;  a  lovely  Grooze,  as  the  man  who  grinds  that 
picture-mill  would  say  ;  she  had  large  brown  eyes  that 
looked  as  if  they  could  be  nothing  but  tender  and  true, 
and  a  rosebud  mouth  all  sweetness  and  smiles,  and  Hps 
that  trembled  when  she  thought.  I  remember  her— a 
head  like  a  queen's  piled  up  with  her  own  brown  hair  and 
flowers,  an'  a  figure  like — like  a  Mexican  half-caste  at  four- 
teen." 

"  You  talk  of  her  as  if  you  were  in  love  with  her,"  said 
Jack  jealously. 

"  No,  Mr.  Dunquerque  ;  no,  sir.  That  is,  I  may  be. 
But  it  won't  come  between  you  and  her,  what  I  feel.  You 
air  a  most  fortunate  man.  Go  down  on  your  knees  when 
you  get  home,  and  say  so.  For  or'nary  blessin's  you  may 
use  the  plan  of  Joshua  Mixer,  the  man  who  had  the  big- 
gest claim  in  Empire  City  before  it  busted  up.  He  got 
his  Petitions  and  his  Thanksgivin's  printed  out  neat  on  a 
card  together,  and  then  he  hung  that  card  over  his  bed. 
'  My  sentiments,'  he  used  to  say,  jerkin,  his  thumb  to  the 
card  when  he  got  in  at  night.  Never  omitted  his  prayers; 
never  forgot  that  jerk,  drunk  or  sober.  Joshua  Mixer  was 
the  most  religious  man  in  all  that  camp.  But  for  special 
Providences  ;   tor  He  ;  for  a  lucky  shot;  for  a  sweet,  pure, 


272  THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

heavenly,  gracious  creature  like  Miss  Fleming, — I  say,  go 
on  your  knees  and  own  to  it,  as  a  man  should.  Well,  Mr. 
Dunquerque,"  he  continued,  "  I  wish  you  success  ;  and  if 
there's  anything  I  can  do  to  promote  your  success,  let  me 
know.  Now  there's  another  thing.  What  I  want  to  do  is 
to  unlock  the  door  which  keeps  me  from  the  society  of 
men  of  genius.  I  can  get  into  good  houses  ;  they  all 
seem  open  to  me  because  I've  got  money.  London  is  the 
most  hospitable  city  in  this  wide  world  for  those  who  have 
the  stamps.  Republican  ?  Republican  ain't  the  word  for 
it.  Do  they  ask  who  a  man  is  ?  Not  they.  They  ask 
about  his  dollars,  and  they  welcome  him  with  smiles.  It's 
a  beautiful  thing  to  look  at,  and  it  makes  an  Amer'can 
sigh  when  he  thinks  of  his  own  country,  where  they  in- 
quire into  a  stranger's  antecedents.  But  there's  excep- 
tions, and  artists  and  authors  I  cannot  get  to.  And  I 
want  to  meet  your  great  men.  Not  to  interview  them,  sir. 
Not  at  all.  They  may  talk  a  donkey's  hind  leg  off,  and  I 
wouldn't  send  a  single  line  to  the  New  York  papers  to  tell 
them  what  was  said  nor  what  they  wore.  But  I  should 
like,  just  for  one  evening,  to  meet  and  talk  with  the  great 
writers  whom  we  respect  across  the  water" 

Again  Jack  Dunquerque's  eyes  began  to  twinkle.  He 
could  not  enter  into  the  earnestness  of  this  man.  And  an 
idea  occurred  to  him  at  which  his  face  lit  up  with  smiles 

"It  requires  thinking  over.  Suppose  I  was  to  be  able 
to  get  half-a-dozen  or  so  of  our  greatest  writers,  how 
should  we  manage  to  entertain  them  ?" 

"  I  should  like,  if  they  would  only  come — I  should  like 
to  give  them  a  dinner  at  the  Langham.  A  square  meal, 
the  very  best  dinner  that  the  hotel  can  serve.  I  should 
like  to  make  them  feel  like  being  at  the  Guildhall." 

"  I  will  think  about  it,"  said  Jack,  "  and  let  you  know 
in  a  day  or  two  what  I  can  do  for  you." 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  273 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
"  Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff." 

A  PATRON  at  last,  Cornelius,"  said  Humphrey 
Jagenal,  partly  recovering  from  the  shock  of  Jack 
Dunquerque's  communication.  "  A  Patron.  Patronage 
is,  after  all,  the  breath  of  life  in  Art.  Let  others  pander 
to  the  vitiated  public  taste  and  cater  for  a  gaping  crowd 
round  the  walls  of  the  Royal  Academy.  I  would  paint  for 
a  Lorenzo  only,  and  so  work  for  the  highest  interests  of 
Art.  We  will  call,  brother,  upon  this  Mr.  Beck  to- 
morrow." 

"We  will  !"  said  Cornelius,  with  enthusiasm. 

It  was  in  the  Studio.  Both  brothers,  simultaneously 
fired  with  ardour,  started  to  their  feet  and  threw  back 
their  heads  with  a  gesture  of  confidence  and  determina- 
tion. The  light  of  high  resolve  flashed  from  their  eyes, 
which  were  exactly  alike.  The  half-opened  lips  expressed 
their  delight  in  the  contemplation  of  immortal  fame. 
Their  chance  had  arrived;  their  youth  was  come  back  to 
them. 

True,  that  Gilead  Beck  at  present  only  proposed  to  be- 
come a  Patron  to  the  Artist;  but  while  it  did  not  enter 
into  Humphrey's  head  for  one  moment  that  he  could 
make  that  visit  unsupported  by  his  brother,  so  the  thought 
lay  in  cither's  brain  that  a  Poet  wanted  patronage  as  much 
as  an  Artist. 

They  were  both  excited.  To  Humphrey  it  was  clear 
that  the  contemplation  of  his  great  work,  in  which  he  had 
basked  so  many  years,  was  to  be  changed  for  days  of 
active  labour.  No  longer  could  he  resolve  to  carry  it  into 
execution  the  "day  after  to  morrow,'  as  the  Arabs  say. 
This  was  difficult  to  realise,  but  as  yet  the  thought  was 
like  the  first  shock   of  ice- cold  water,  for  it  set  his  veins 


274  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

tingling  and  braced  his  nerves.  He  felt  within  him  once 
more  the  strength  felt  by  every  young  man  at  first,  which 
is  the  strength  of  Michael  Angelo.  He  saw  in  imagination 
his  great  work,  the  first  of  many  great  works,  finished,  a 
glorious  canvas  glowing  with  the  realization  of  a  painter's 
dream  of  colour,  crowded  v/i:h  graceful  figures,  warm  with 
the  thought  of  genius,  and  rich  with  the  fancy  of  an  Artist- 
scholar — a  work  for  all  time.  And  he  gasped.  But  for 
his  beard  he  might  have  been  a  boy  waiting  for  the  mor- 
row, when  he  should  receive  the  highest  prize  in  the 
school;  or  an  undergraduate,  the  favourite  of  his  year, 
after  the  examination,  looking  confidently  to  the  Senior 
Wranglership. 

In  the  morning  they  took  no  walk,  but  retired  silently 
each  to  his  own  room.  In  the  Studio  the  Artist  opened 
his  portfolios,  and  spread  out  the  drawings  made  years 
ago  when  he  was  studying  in  Rome.  They  were  good 
drawings;  there  was  feehng  in  every  line;  but  they  were 
copies.  There  was  not  one  scrap  of  original  work,  and  his 
Conscience  began  to  whisper — only  he  refused  at  first  to 
listen — that  the  skill  of  hand  and  touch  was  gone.  Then 
Conscience,  which  gets  angry  if  disregarded,  took  to 
whispering  more  loudly,  and  presently  he  heard.  He 
took  crayon  and  paper,  and  began,  feverishly  and  in 
haste,  to  copy  one  of  his  old  drawings.  He  worked  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  and  then,  looking  at  the  thing  he  had 
once  done  beside  the  thing  he  was  then  doing,  he  dashed 
the  pencil  from  him,  and  tore  up  the  miserable  replica  m 
disgust.  His  spirit,  which  had  flown  so  high,  sank  dul. 
and  heavy  as  lead;  he  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  and 
began  to  think,  gazing  hopelessly  into  space. 

It  was  the  opportunity  of  Conscience,  who  presently 
began  to  sing  as  loudly  as  any  skylark,  but  not  so  cheer- 
fully. "  You  are  fifty,"  said  that  voice  which  seldom  lies; 
"you  have  wasted  the  last  twenty  years  of  your  life;  you 
have  become  a  wind-bag  and  a  shallow  humbug;  you 
cannot  now  paint  or  draw  at  all;  what  little  power  was  in 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  275 

you  has  departed.  Your  brother,  the  Poet,  has  been 
steadily  working  while  you  have  slept"— and  it  will  be 
perceived  that  Conscience  spoke  from  imperfect  informa- 
tion. "  He  will  produce  a  great  book,  and  live.  You 
will  die.  The  grave  will  close  over  you,  and  you  will  be 
forgotten." 

It  was  a  hard  saying,  and  the   Artist  groaned  as  he  lis- 
tened to  it. 

In  the  workshop,  Cornelius  also,  startled  into  action, 
spread  out  upon  the  table  a  bundle  of  papers  which  had 
been  lying  undisturbed  in  his  desk  for  a  dozen  years  or 
more.  They  were  poems  he  had  written  in  his  youth,  un- 
published verses,  thoughts  in  rhyme  such  as  an  imagina- 
tive young  man  easily  pours  forth,  reproducing  the  fashion 
of  the  time  and  the  thoughts  of  others.  He  began  to  read 
these  over  again  with  mingled  pleasure  and  pain.  For 
the  thoughts  seemed  strange  to  him.  He  felt  that  they 
were  good  and  lofty  thoughts,  but  the  conviction  forced 
itself  upon  him  that  the  brain  which  had  produced  them 
was  changed.  No  more  of  such  good  matter  was  left 
within  it.  The  lines  of  thought  were  changed.  The 
poetic  faculty,  a  delicate  plant,  which  droops  unless  it  is 
watered  and  carefully  tended,  was  dead  within  him. 
And  the  whole  of  the  Epic  to  be  written. 
Not  a  line  done,  not  a  single  episode  on  paper,  though 
to  Phillis  he  claimed  to  have  done  so  much. 

He  seized  a  pen,  and  with  trembling  fingers  and  agitat- 
ed brain  forced  himself  to  write. 

In  half  an  hour  he  tore  the  paper  into  shreds,  and, 
with  a  groan,  threw  down  the  pen.  The  result  was 
too  feeble. 

Then  he  too  began  to  meditate,  like  his  brother  in  the 
Studio.  Presently  his  guardian  angel,  who  very  seldom 
got  such  a  chance,  began  to  admonish  him,  even  as  the 
dean  admonishes  an  erring  undergraduate. 

"  You  are  fifty,"  said  the  invisible  Censor.  "  What  have 
you  done  with  yourself  for  twenty  years  and  more.     Your 


276  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

best  thoughts  have  passed  away  ;  the  poetical  eye  is  dim ; 
you  will  write  no  more.  Your  brother,  the  Artist,  is  busy 
with  pencil  and  brain.  He  will  produce  a  great  work,  and 
live  for  ever.  You  will  do  nothing  ;  you  will  go  down  into 
the  pit  and  be  forgotten." 

It  was  too  much  for  the  Poet.  His  lips  trembled,  his 
hand  shook.     He  could  no  more  rest  in  his  chair. 

He  walked  backwards  and  forwards,  the  voice  pursuing 
him. 

"  Wasted  years  ;  wasted  energies  ;  wasted  gifts  ;  your 
chance  is  gone.     You  cannot  write  now." 

Poets  are  more  susceptible  than  artists.  That  is  the 
reason  why  Cornelius  rushed  out  of  the  Workshop  to 
escape  this  torture  and  sought  his  brother  Humphrey. 

Humphrey  started  iike  a  guilty  person.  His  face  was 
pale,  his  eye  was  restless. 

"  Cornelius  ? " 

"  Do  not  me  disturb  you,  my  dear  brother.  You  are 
happy  ;  you  are  at  work  ;  your  soul  is  at  peace." 

"  And  you,  Cornelius  ?" 

"  I  am  not  at  peace.  I  am  restless  this  morning.  I  am 
nervous  and  agitated." 

"  So  am  I,  Cornelius.  I  cannot  work.  My  pencil  re- 
fuses to  obey  my  brain." 

"  My  own  case.  My  pen  will  not  write  what  I  wish. 
The  link  between  the  brain  and  the  nerves  is  for  the 
moment  severed." 

"  Let  us  go  out,  brother.  It  is  now  three.  We  will 
walk  slowly  in  the  direction  of  the  Langham  Hotel." 

As  they  put  on  their  hats  Cornelius  stopped,  and  said 
reflectively — 

**  The  nervous  system  is  a  little  shaken  with  both  of  us. 
Can  you  suggest  anything,  brother  Humphrey  ?" 

"  The  best  thing  for  a  shaken  nervous  system,"  re- 
plied Humphrey  promptly,  "  is  a  glass  of  champagne. 
I  will  get  some  champagne  for  you,  brother  Cor- 
nelius." 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  277 

He  returned  presently  with  a  modest  pint  bottle, 
which  they  drank  together,  Humphrey  remarking  (in 
italics)  that  in  such  a  case  it  is  not  a  question  of 
what   a   man   wants,  so    much   as   of   what   he   needs. 

A  pint  of  champagne  is  not  much  between  two  men, 
but  it  produced  an  excellent  effect  upon  the  Twins.  Be- 
fore it  they  were  downcast  ;  they  looked  around  with  the 
furtive  eyes  of  conscious  imposture;  their  hands  trembled. 
After  it  they  raised  their  heads,  laughed,  and  looked 
boldly  in  each  others's  eyes,  assumed  a  gay  and  confident 
air,  and  presenty  marched  off  arm-in-arm  to  call  upon  the 
Patron. 

Gilead  Beck,  unprepared  to  see  both  brethren,  welcomed 
them  with  a  respect  almost  overwhelming.  It  was  his 
first  interview  with  Genius. 

They  introduced  each  other. 

"  Mr.  Beck,"  said  (Cornelius,  "allow  me  to  introduce  my 
brother,  Humphrey  Jagenal.  In  his  case  the  world  is 
satisfied  with  the  Christian  name  alone,  without  the  cere- 
monial prefix.     He  is,  as  you  know,  the  Artist." 

If  his  brother  had  been  Titian  or  Correggio  he  could 
not  have  said  more. 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Beck,  shaking  Humphrey's  hand 
warmly,  "  I  am  proud  indeed  to  make  your  acquain- 
tance, I  am  but  a  rough  man  myself,  sir,  but  I  re- 
spect  genius." 

"  Then,"  said  Humphrey,  with  admirable  presence  of 
mind,  "allow  me  to  introduce  my  brother.  Cornelius 
Jagenal,  as  you  doubtless  know,  Mr.  Beck,  is  the  Poet." 

Mr.  Beck  did  not  know  it,  and  said  so.  But  he  shook 
hands  with  Cornelius  none  the  less  cordially. 

"  Sir,  I  have  been  knocking  about  the  world,  and  have 
not  read  any  poetry  since  I  was  a  boy.  Then  I  read 
Alexander  Pope.     You  know  Pope,  Mr,  Jagenal  ?" 

Cornelius  smiled,  as  if  he  might  allow  some  merit  to 
Pope,  though  small  in  comparison  with  his  own. 

"  I    have   never   met   with   your   poem,   Mr.  Cornelius 


278  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

Jagenal  or  your  pictures,  Mr,  Humphrey,  but  I  hope  you 
will  now  enable  me  to  do  so." 

"  My  brother  is  engaged said  Cornelius. 

*'  My  brother  is  engaged  " began  Humphrey.  "  Par- 
don, brother." 

"  Sit  down,  gentlemen.  Will  you  take  anything  ?  In 
California,  up  country,  we  always  begin  with  a  drink.  Call 
for  what  you  please,  gentlemen.     Sail  in,  as  we  say." 

They  took  champagne,  for  the  second  time  that  day, 
and  then  their  eyes  began  to  ghsten. 

Mr.  Beck  observed  that  they  were  both  alike^small 
and  fragile-looking  men,  with  bright  eyes  and  delicate 
features  ;  he  made  a  mental  note  to  the  effect  that  they 
would  never  advance  their  own  fortunes.  He  also  con- 
cluded from  their  red  noses,  and  from  the  way  in  which 
they  straightened  their  backs  after  placing  themselves 
outside  the  champaigne,  that  they  loved  the  goblet,  and 
habitually  handled  it  too  often. 

'*  Now,  gentlemen,"  he  began,  after  making  these  obser- 
vations, "  may  I  be  allowed  to  talk  business  ?" 

They  both  bowed. 

"  Genius,  gentlemen,  is  apt  to  be  careless  of  the  main 
chance.  It  don't  care  for  the  almighty  dollar  ;  it  lets  fel- 
lows like  me  heap  up  the  stamps.  What  can  we  do  but 
ask  Genius  to  dig  into  our  Pile  ? " 

Humphrey  poured  out  another  glass  of  champagne  for 
his  brother,  and  one  for  himself.  Then  he  turned  to  Cor- 
nelius and  nodded  gravely. 

"  Cornelius,  so  far  as  I  understand  him,  Mr.  Beck  speaks 
the  strongest  common  sense." 

"  We  agree  with  you  so  far,  Mr.  Beck,"  said  Cornelius 
critically,  because  he  was  there  to  give  moral  support  to 
his  brother. 

"Why  should  I  have  any  delicacy  in  saying  to  a  young  man, 
or  a  man  of  any  age,"  he  added  doubtfully,  for  the  years  of 
the  Twins  seemed  uncertain,  "  '  You,  sir,  are  an  Artist  and 
a  Genius.     Tahc  a  cheque,  and  carry  out  your  ideas. '  ?  " 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  279 

"  What  reason  indeed  ? "  asked  Cornelius.  "The  offer 
does  honour  to  both." 

"  Or  to  another  man,  'You,  sir,  are  a  Poet.    Why  should 
the  cares  of  the  world  interfere  with  your  thoughts  ?   Take 
a  cheque,  and  make  the  world  rejoice  ' !  " 
Humphrey  clapped  his  hands. 

"  The  world  lies  in  travail  for  such  a  patron  of  poetry," 
he  said. 

"  Why,  then,  we  are  agreed,"  said  Mr.  Beck.  "  Gentle- 
men, I  say  to  you  both,  collectively,  let  me  usher  into  the 
world  those  works  of  genius  which  you  are  bound  to  pro- 
duce. You,  sir,  are  painting  a  picture.  When  can  you 
finish  me  that  picture  ?" 

"  In  six  months,"  said  Humphrey,  his  brain  suffused 
with  a  rosy  warmth  of  colour  which  made  him  see  things 
in  an  impossibly  favourable  light. 

"  I  buy  that  picture,  sir,  at  your  own  price,"  said  the 
patron.  "  I  shall  exhibit  it  in  London,  and  it  shall  then 
go  to  New  York  with  me.  And  you,  Mr.  Cornelius  Jage- 
nal,  are  engaged  upon  poems.  When  would  you  wish  to 
publish  your  verses  ?" 

"  My  Epic,  the  Upheaval  of  ^Ifred^  will  be  ready  for 
publication  about  the  end  of  November,  said  Cor- 
nelius. 

Humphrey  felt  a  passing  pang  of  jealousy  as  he  per- 
ceived that  his  brother  would  be  before  the  world  a  month 
in  advance  of  himself.  But  what  is  a  month  compared 
with  immortality  ? 

"  I  charge  myself,  sir,  if  you  will  allow  me,"  said  the 
American,  "  with  the  production  of  that  work.  It  shall  be 
printed  in  the  best  style  possible,  on  the  thickest  paper 
made,  and  illustrated  by  the  best  artist  that  can  be  found 
— you,  perhaps,  Mr.  Humphrey  Jagenal.  It  shall  be 
bound  in  Russian  leather;  its  exterior  shall  be  worthy  of 
its  contents.  And  as  for  business  arrangements,  gentle- 
men, you  will  please  consider  them  at  your  leisure,  and 
let  me  know  what  you  think.     We  shall  be  sure  to  agree, 


28o  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

because,  if  you  will  not  think  it  shoddy  in  me  to  say  so,  I 
have  my  Pile  to  dig  into.  And  I  shall  send  you,  if  you 
will  allow  me,  gentlemen,  a  small  cheque  each  in  ad- 
vance." 

They  murmured  assent  and  rose  to  go. 

"  If  you  would  favor  me  further,  gentlemen,  by  dining 
with  me — say  this  day  week — I  should  take  it  as  a  great 
distinction.  I  hope,  with  the  assistance  of  Mr.  Dun- 
querque,  to  have  a  few  prominent  men  of  letters  to  meet 
you.     I  want  to  have  my  table  full  of  genius." 

"  Can  we,  brother  Humphrey,  accept  Mr.  Beck's  invita- 
tion ?" 

Cornelius  asked  as  if  they  were  weeks  deep  in  engage- 
ments. As  it  was,  nobody  ever  asked  them  anywhere,  and 
they  had  no  engagements  at  all. 

Humphrey  consulted  a  pocket-book  with  grave  face. 

"  We  can,  Mr.  Beck." 

"  And  if  you  know  any  one  else,  gentlemen,  any  men 
of  Literature  and  Art  who  will  come  too,  bring  them  along 
with  you,  and  I  shall  feel  it  an  honour." 

They  knew  no  one  connected  with  Literature  and  Art, 
not  even  a  printer's  devil,  but  they  did  not  say  so. 

At  twelve  o'clock,  toward  the  close  of  this  fatiguing 
day,  Cornelius  asked  Humphrey,  with  a  little  hesitation,  if 
he  really  thought  he  should  have  finished  his  great  work 
in  six  months. 

"  Art  cannot  be  forced,  Cornelius,"  said  the  Painter 
airily.  "  If  I  am  not  ready,  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  con- 
sider the  pledge  conditional.  My  work  must  be  perfect 
ere  it  leaves  my  hands.* 

"And  mine,  too,"  said  the  Poet.  '*  I  will  never  consent 
to  let  a  poem  of  mine  go  forth  unfinished  to  the  world. 
The  work  must  be  polished  ad  unguem." 

"  This  is  a  memorable  day,  brother.  The  tumblers 
are  empty.  Allow  me.  And,  Cornelius,  I  really  do  think 
that,  considering  the  way  in  which  we  have  been  treated 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  28 1 

by  PhilUs  Fleming,  and  her  remarks  about  afternoon  work, 
we  ought  to  call  and  let  her  understand  the  reality  of  our 
reputation." 

"  We  will,  Humphrey.  But  it  is  not  enough  to  recover 
lost  ground;  we  must  advance  farther.  The  fortress  shall 
be  made  to  surrender." 

"  Let  us  drink  to  your  success,  brother,  and  couple  with 
the  toast  the  name  of  Phillis — Phillis — Phillis  Jagenal, 
brother  ?" 

They  drank  that  toast,  smiling  unutterable  things. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 
"  Call  me  not  fool  till  Heaven  hath  sent  me  fortune." 

WHEN  Jack  Dunquerque  communicated  to  Lawrence 
Colquhoun  the  fact  of  having  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Miss  Fleming,  and  subsequently  that  of  Mrs. 
L'Estrange,  Lawrence  expressed  no  surprise  and  felt  no 
suspicions.  Probably,  had  he  felt  any,  they  would  have 
been  at  once  set  aside,  because  Colquhoun  was  not  a  man 
given  to  calculate  the  future  chances,  and  to  disquiet 
himself  about  possible  events.  Also  at  this  time  he  was 
taking  little  interest  in  Phillis.  A  pretty  piquante  girl ;  he 
devoted  a  whole  day  to  her  ;  drove  her  to  Twickenham, 
and  placed  her  in  perfect  safety  under  the  charge  of  his 
cousin.  What  more  was  wanted  ?  Agatha  wrote  to  him 
twice  a  week  or  so,  and  when  he  had  time  he  read  the 
letters.  They  were  all  about  Phillis,  and  most  of  them 
contained  the  assurance  that  he  had  no  entanglements  to 
fear. 

"  Entanglements  !"  he  murmured  impatiently.  "As  if 
a  man  cannot  dine  with  a  girl  without  falling  in  love  with 
her  Women  are  always  thinking  that  men  want  to  be 
married." 


282  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

He  was  forgetting,  after  the  fashion  of  men  who  have 
gone  through  the  battle,  how  hot  is  the  fight  for  those 
who  are  just  beginning  it.  Jack  Dunquerque  was  four 
and-twenty ;  he  was  therefore,  so  to  speak,  in  the  thick 
of  it.  Phillis's  eyes  were  Uke  two  quivers  filled  with  darts, 
and  when  she  turned  them  innocently  upon  her  friend  the 
enemy,  the  darts  flew  straight  at  him,  and  transfixed  him 
as  if  he  were  another  Sebastian.  Colquhoun's  time  was 
past ;  he  was  clothed  in  the  armour  of  indifference  which 
comes  with  the  years,  and  he  was  forgetting  the  past. 

Still,  had  he  known  of  the  visit  to  the  Tower  of  Lon 
don,  the  rowing  on  the  river,  the  luncheons  in  Carnarvon 
Square,  it  is  possible  that  even  he  might  have  seen  the 
propriety  of  requesting  Jack  Dunquerque  to  keep  out  of 
danger  for  the  future. 

He  had  no  plans  for  Phillis,  except  of  the  simplest 
kind.  She  was  to  remain  in  charge  of  Agatha  for  a  year, 
and  then  she  would  come  out.  He  hoped  that  she  would 
marry  well,  because  her  father,  had  he  lived,  would  have 
wished  It.     And  that  was  all  he  hoped  about  her. 

He  had  his  private  worries  at  this  time — those  already 
indicated — connected  with  Victoria  Cassilis.  The  ice 
once  broken,  that  lady  allowed  him  no  rest.  She  wrote 
to  him  on  some  pretence  nearly  every  day ;  she  sent  her 
maid,  the  unlovely  one,  with  three-cornered  notes  all 
about  nothing  ;  she  made  him  meet  her  in  society  ,  she 
made  him  dine  with  her ;  it  seemed  as  if  she  was  spread- 
ing a  sort  of  net  about  him,  through  the  meshes  of  which 
he  could  not  escape. 

With  the  knowledge  of  what  had  been,  it  was  an  un- 
righteous thing  for  Colquhoun  to  go  to  the  house  of 
Gabriel  Cassilis  ;  he  ought  not  to  be  there,  he  felt  ,  it  was 
the  one  house  in  all  London  in  which  he  had  no  business. 
And  yet — how  to  avoid  it  ? 

And  Gabriel  Cassilis  seemed  to  like  him ,  evidently 
liked  to  talk  to  him  ;  singled  him  out,  this  great  financier, 
and  talked  with  him  as  if  Colquhoun  too  was  interested  in 


THE  GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  =83 

Stock  ;  called  upon  him  at  his  chambers,  and  told  him,  in 
a  dry  but  convincing  way.  something  of  his  successes  and 
his  projects. 

It  was  after  many  talks  of  this  kind  that  Lawrence 
Colquhoun,  forgetful  of  the  past,  and  not  remembering 
that  of  all  men  in  the  world  Gabriel  Cassilis  was  the  last 
who  should  have  chaage  of  his  money,  put  it  all  in  his 
hands,  with  power-of-attorney  to  sell  out  and  reinvest  for 
him.  But  that  was  nothing.  Colquhoun  was  not  the 
man  to  trouble  about  money.  He  was  safe  in  the  hands 
of  this  great  and  successful  capitalist:  he  gave  no  thought 
to  any  risk  ;  he  congratulated  himself  on  his  cleverness  in 
persuadmg  the  financier  to  take  the  money  for  him  ; 
and  he  continued  to  see  Victoria  Cassilis  nearly  every 
day. 

They  quarrelled  when  they  did  meet;  there  was  not  a 
conversation  between  them  in  which  she  did  not  say  some- 
thing bitter,  and  he  something  savage.  And  yet  he  did 
not  have  the  courage  to  refuse  the  invitations  which  v/ere 
almost  commands.  Nor  could  she  resign  the  sweet  joys 
of  making  him  feel  her  power. 

A  secret,  you  see,  has  a  fatal  fascination  about  it. 
Schoolgirls,  I  am  told,  are  given  to  invent  little  secrets 
which  mean  nothing,  and  to  whisper  them  in  the  ears  of 
their  dearest  friends  to  the  exclusion  of  the  rest.  The 
possession  of  this  unknown  and  invaluable  fact  brings 
them  together,  whispering  and  conspiring,  at  every  pos- 
sible moment.  Freemasons  again — how  are  they  kept  to- 
gether; except  by  the  possession  of  secrets  which  are  said 
to  have  been  published  over  and  over  again  ?  And  when 
two  people  have  a  secret  which  means — all  that  the  secret 
between  Colquhoun  and  Mrs.  Cassilis  meant,  they  can  no 
more  help  being  drawn  together  than  the  waters  can  cease 
to  find  their  own  level.  To  be  together,  to  feel  that  the 
only  other  person  in  the  world  who  knows  that  secret  is 
with  you,  is  a  kind  of  safety.  Yet  what  did  it  matter  to 
Colquhoun  ?     Simply  nothing.    The  secret  was  his  as  well 


284  THE   COLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

as  hers,  but  the  reasons  for  keeping  it  a  secret  were  not 
his  at  all,  but  hers  entirely. 

So  Phillis  was  neglected  by  her  guardian  and  left  to 
Agatha  and  Jack  Dunquerque,  with  such  results  as  we 
shall  see. 

So  Lawrence  Colquhoun  fell  into  the  power  of  this  man 
of  stocks,  about  the  mouth  of  whose  City  den  the  foot- 
steps pointed  all  one  way.  He  congratulated  himself;  he 
found  out  Gilead  Beck,  and  they  congratulated  each 
other. 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  Colquhoun,  who  had  already  enough 
for  four  bachelors,  "  why  one's  income  should  not  be 
doubled." 

"With  Mr.  Cassilis,"  said  Gilead  Beck,  "you  sign 
cheques,  and  he  gives  you  dividends.  It's  like  He,  because 
you  can  go  on  pumping." 

"  He  understands  more  than  any  other  living  man, 
said  Lawrence. 

"  He  is  in  the  inner  track,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Beck 

"  And  a  man,"  said  Lawrence,  "  ready  to  take  in  his 
friends  with  himself." 

"  A  high-toned  and  a  whole-souled  man,"  said  Gilead 
Beck,  with  enthusiasm.  "  That  man,  sir,  I  do  believe 
would  take  in  the  hull  world." 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

"  I  had  rather  hear  a  brazen  candlestick  tum'd, 

Or  a  dry  wheel  grate  on  an  axle-tree ; 
And  that  would  set  my  teeth  nothing  on  edge, 
Nothing  so  much  as  mincing  poetry." 

JACK  DUNQUERQUE  repaired  to  the  Langham,  the 
day  after  the  call  01  the  Twins,  with  a  face  in  which 
cheerful  anticipation  and  anxiety  were  curiously  blended. 
He  was  serious  with  his  lips,  but  he  laughed  with  his  eyes, 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  285 

And  he  spoke  with  a  little  hesitation  not  often  observed 
in  him. 

"  I  think  your  dinner  will  come  off  next  Wednesday," 
he  said.  "  And  I  have  been  getting  together  your  party 
for  you." 

"  That  is  so,  Mr.  Dunquerque  ?"  asked  Gilead  Beck, 
with  a  solemnity  which  hardly  disguised  his  pride  and 
joy.  "  That  is  so  ?  And  those  great  men,  your  friends, 
are  actually  coming  ?" 

"  I  have  seen  them  all,  personally.  And  I  put  the  case 
before  each  of  them.  I  said,  '  Here  is  an  Ameiican  gen- 
tleman most  anxious  to  make  your  acquaintance;  he  has 
no  letters  of  introduction  to  you,  but  he  is  a  sincere  ad- 
mirer of  your  genius;  he  appreciates  you  better  than  any 
other  living  man.'  " 

**  Heap  it  up,  Mr.  Dunquerque,"  said  the  Man  of  Oil. 
"  Heap  it  up.     Tell  them  I  am  Death  on  appreciation." 

"That  is  in  substance  what  I  did  tell  them.  Then  I 
explained  that  you  deputed  me,  or  gave  me  permission  to 
ask  them  to  dinner.  *  The  honour,'  I  said,  *  is  mutual. 
On  the  one  hand,  my  friend,  Mr.  Gilead  P.  Beck  ' — I  ven- 
tured to  say,  *  my  friend,  Mr.  Gilead  P.  Beck  " 

"  If  you  hadn't  said  that  you  should  have  been  scalped 
and  gouged.     Go  on,  Mr.  Dunquerque  ;  go  on,  sir." 

" '  On  the  one  hand,  my  friend,  Mr.  Gilead  P. 
Beck ' " 

**  That  is  so — that  is  so." 

"  *  Will  feel  himself  honoured  by  your  company  ;  on  the 
other  hand,  it  will  be  a  genuine  source  of  pleasure  for 
you  to  know  that  you  are  as  well  known  and  as  thoroughly 
appreciated  on  the  other  side  of  the  water  as  you  are 
here.'  I  am  not  much  of  a  speechmaker,  and  I  assure 
you  that  little  effort  cost  me  a  good  deal  of  thought. 
However,  the  end  of  it  is  all  you  care  about.  Most  of  the 
writing  swells  will  come,  either  on  Wednesday  next  or  on 
^ny  other  day  you  please." 

^*  Mr.  Dunquerque,  not  a  day  passes  but  you  load  me 


286  THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

with  obligations.     Tell  me,  if  you  please,  who  they  are." 

"Well,  you  will  say  I  have  done  pretty  well,  I  think." 
Jack  pulled  out  a  paper.  "  And  you  will  know  most  of 
the  names.  First  of  all,  you  would  like  to  see  the  old 
Philosopher  of  Cheyne  Walk,  Thomas  Carlyle,  as  your 
guest  ?" 

"  Carlyle,  sir,  is  a  name  to  conjure  with  in  the  States. 
When  I  was  Editor  of  the  Clearville  Roarer  I  had  an  odd 
volume  of  Carlyle,  and  I  used  to  quote  him  as  long  as  the 
book  lasted.  It  perished  in  a  fight.  And  to  think  that  I 
shall  meet  the  man  who  wrote  that  work  !  An  account  of 
the  dinner  must  be  written  for  the  Rockoleaville  Gazette. 
We'll  have  a  special  reporter,  Mr.  Dunquerque.  We'll 
get  a  man  who'll  do  it  up  to  the  handle." 

Jack  looked  at  his  list  again. 

"  What  do  you  say  of  Professor  Huxley  and  Mr.  Dar- 
win ?" 

Mr.  Beck  shook  his  head.  These  two  writers  began  to 
flourish — that  is,  to  be  read — in  the  States  after  his  edito- 
rial days,  and  he  knew  them  not. 

"  I  should  say  they  were  prominent  citizens,  likely,  if  I 
knew  what  they'd  written.  Is  Professor  Huxley  a  pro- 
fessing Christian  ?  There  was  a  Professor  Habukkuk 
Huckster  once  down  Empire  City  way  in  the  Moody  and 
Sankey  business,  with  an  interest  in  the  organs  and  a  per- 
centage on  the  hymn-books  ;  but  they're  not  relations,  I 
suppose  ?  Not  probable.  And  the  other  genius — what  is 
his  name — Darwin  ?     Grinds  novels  perhaps  ?" 

"  Historical  works  of  fiction.  Great  in  genealogy  is 
Darwin." 

"  Never  mind  my  ignorance,  Mr.  Dunquerque.  And  go 
on,  sir.     I'm  powerful  interested." 

"  Ruskin  is  coming  ;  and  I  had  thought  of  Robert 
Browning,  the  poet,  but  I  am  afraid  he  may  not  be  able 
to  be  present.  You  see,  Browning  is  so  much  sought 
after  by  the  younger  men  of  the  day.  They  used  to  play 
polo  and  billiards  and  other  frivolous  things  till  he  came 


THE    GOLDEN    feUlTERFLV.  287 

into  fashion  with  his  light  and  graceful  verse,  so  simple 
that  all  may  understand  it.  His  last  poem,  I  believe,  is 
now  sung  about  the  streets.  However,  there  are  Tenny- 
son and  Swinburne — they  are  both  coming.  Buchanan 
I  would  ask,  if  I  knew  him,  but  I  don't.  George  Eliot,  of 
course,  I  could  not  invite  to  a  stag  party.  Trollope  we 
might  get,  perhaps  " 

"  Give  me  Charles  Reade,  sir,"  said  Gilead  Beck.  "  He 
is  the  novelist  they  like  on  our  side." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  could  not  persuade  him  to  come;  though 
he  might  be  pleased  to  see  you  if  you  would  call  at  his 
house,  perhaps.  However,  Beck,  the  great  thing  is  " — he 
folded  up  his  list  and  placed  it  in  his  pocket-book — "  that 
you  shall  have  a  dinner  of  authors  as  good  as  any  that  sat 
down  to  the  Lord  Mayor's  spread  last  year.  Authors  of 
all  sorts,  and  the  very  best.  None  of  your  unknown  little 
hungry  anonymous  beggars  who  write  novels  in  instal- 
ments for  weekly  papers.  Big  men,  sir,  with  big  names. 
Men  you'll  be  proud  to  know.  And  they  shall  be  asked 
for  next  Wednesday." 

*'  That  gives  only  four  days.  It's  terrible  sudden," 
said  Gilead  Beck.  He  shook  his  head  with  as  much  grav- 
ity as  if  he  was  going  to  be  hanged  in  four  days.  Then 
he  sat  down  and  began  to  write  the  names  of  his  guests. 

"  Professor  Huxley,"  he  said,  looking  up.  "  I  suppose  I 
can  buy  that  clergyman's  sermons  ?  And  the  Universal 
Genius  who  reels  out  the  historical  romances,  Mr.  Darwin? 
I  shall  get  his  works,  too.  And  there's  Mr.  Ruskin,  Mr. 
Robert  Browning" 

"  What  are  you  going  so  do  ?" 

"  Well,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  I  am  going  to  devote  the  next 
four  days,  from  morning  till  night,  to  solid  preparation  for 
that  evening.  I  shall  go  out  right  away,  and  I  shall  buy 
every  darned  book  those  great  men  have  written;  and  if  I  sit 
up  every  night  over  the  job,  I'm  bound  to  read  every  word." 
"  Oh  !  "  said  Jack.  **  Then  I  advise  you  to  begin  with 
Robert  Browning." 


288  THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"  The  light  and  graceful  verse  that  everybody  can  under- 
stand ?  I  will,"  said  Gilead  Beck.  ''  They  shall  not  find 
me  unacquainted  with  their  poems.  Mr.  Dunquerque,  for 
the  Lord's  sake  don't  tell  them  it  was  all  crammed  up  in 
four  days." 

"  Not  I.  But — I  say — yhu  know,  authors  don't  like  to 
talk  about  their  own  books." 

*  That's  the  modesty  of  real  genius,"  said  the  American, 
with  admiration. 

It  will  be  perceived  that  Jack  spoke  with  a  certain  rash- 
ness. Most  authors  I  have  myself  known  do  love  very 
much  to  talk  about  their  own  books. 

"  That  is  their  modesty.  But  they  will  talk  about  eacli 
other's  books.  And  it  is  as  well  to  be  prepared.  What 
I'm  bound  to  make  them  feel,  somehow,  is  that  they 
have  a  man  before  them  who  has  gone  in  for  the  hull  lot 
and  survived.  A  tough  contract,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  but 
you  trust  me." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Jack,  putting  on  his  hat,  "  only  don't 
ask  them  questions.  Authors  don't  like  being  questioned. 
Why,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  next  Wednesday  some  of 
them  pretended  not  to  know  the  names  of  their  own  books. 
Don't  you  know  that  Shakespeare,  when  he  went  down  to 
Stratford,  to  live  like  a  retired  grocer  at  Leytonstone,  used 
to  pretend  not  to  know  what  a  play  meant  ?  And  when  a 
strolling  company  came  round,  and  the  manager  asked 
permission  to  play  Hamlet,  he  was  the  first  to  sign  a 
petition  to  the  mayor  not  to  allow  immoral  exhibitions  in 
the  borough." 

"  Is  that  so,  sir  ?" 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  Jack,  "  because  I  never  heard  it 
contradicted." 

As  soon  he  was  gone,  Gilead  Beck  sought  the  nearest 
bookseller's  shop  and  gave  an  extensive  order.  He  re- 
quested to  be  furnished  with  all  the  works  of  Carlyle, 
Ruskin,  Tennyson,  Swinburne,  Browning,  Buchanan,  Hux- 
ley, Darwin,  and   a  few  more.     Then  he  returned  to  the 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  289 

Langham,  gave  orders  that  he  was  at  home  to  no  one  ex- 
cept Mr.  Dunquerque,  took  off  his  coat,  lit  a  cigar,  ordered 
more  champagne,  and  began  the  first  of  the  three  most 
awful  days  he  ever  spent  in  all  his  lif*^. 

The  books  presently  came  in  a  great  box,  and  he  spread 
them  on  the  table  with  a  heart  that  sank  at  the  mere  con- 
templation of  their  numbers.  About  three  hundred  vol- 
umes in  all.  And  only  four  days  to  get  through  them. 
Seventy-five  volumes  a  day,  say,  at  the  rate  of  fifteen 
hours'  daily  work  ;  five  an  hour,  one  every  twelve  minutes. 
He  laid  his  watch  upon  the  table,  took  the  first  volume  of 
Robert  Browning  that  was  uppermost,  sat  down  in  his  long 
chair  with  his  feet  up,  and  began. 

The  book  was  Fifine  at  the  Fair.  Gilead  Beck  read 
cheerfully  and  with  great  ease  the  first  eight  or  ten  pages. 
Then  he  discovered  with  a  little  annoyance  that  he  under- 
stood nothing  whatever  of  the  author's  meaning.  *'  That 
comes  of  too  rapid  reading,"  he  said.  So  he  turned  back 
to  the  beginning  and  began  with  more  deliberation.  Ten 
minutes  clean  wasted,  and  not  even  half  a  volume  got 
through.  When  he  had  got  to  tenth  page  for  the  second 
time,  he  questioned  himself  once  more,  and  found  that  he 
understood  less  than  ever.  Were  things  right  ?  Could 
it  be  Browning,  or  some  impostor  ?  Yes,  the  name  of 
Robert  Browning  was  on  the  title-page  ;  also,  it  was  Eng- 
glish.  And  the  words  held  together,  and  were  not 
sprinkled  out  of  a  pepper-pot.  He  began  a  third 
time.  Same  result.  He  threw  away  his  cigar  and 
wiped  his  brow,  on  which  the  cold  dews  of  trouble  were 
gathering  thickly. 

"  This  is  the  beginning  of  the  end,  Gilead  P.  Beck,"  he 
murmured.  "  The  Lord,  to  try  you,  sent  His  blessed  He, 
and  you've  received  it  with  a  proud  stomach.  Now  you 
air  going  off  your  head.  Plain  English,  and  you  can't 
take  in  a  single  sentence." 

It  was  in  grievous  distress  of  mind  that  he  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  began  to  walk  about  the  room. 


Zgq  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  There  was  no  softenin'  yesterday,"  he  murmured, 
trying  to  reassure  himself.  "Why  should  there  be  to-day? 
Softenin'  comes  by  degrees.  Let  us  try  again.  Great 
Jehcshaphat !" 

He  stood  up  to  his  work,  leaning  against  a  window- 
post,  and  took  two  pages  first,  which  he  read  very  slowly. 
And  then  he  dropped  the  volume  in  dismay,  because  he 
understood  less  than  nothing. 

It  was  the  most  disheartening  thing  he  had  ever  at- 
tempted. 

"  I'd  rather  fight  John  Halkett  over  again,"  he  said. 
"  I'd  rather  sit  with  my  finger  on  a  trigger  for  a  week,  ex- 
pecting Mr.  Huggins  to  call  upon  me." 

Then  he  began  to  construe  it  line  by  line,  thinking  every 
now  and  then  that  he  saw  daylight. 

It  is  considered  rather  a  mark  of  distinction,  a  separat- 
ing seal  upon  the  brow,  by  that  poet's  admirers,  to  rever- 
ence his  later  works.  Their  creed  is  that  because  a  poem 
is  rough,  harsh,  ungrammatical,  and  dark,  it  must  have  a 
meaning  as  deep  as  its  black  obscurity. 

"  It's  like  the  texts  of  a  copybook,"  said  Gilead. 
"  Pretty  things,  all  of  them,  separate.  Put  them  together 
and  where  are  they  ?  I  guess  this  book  would  read  better 
upsy  down." 

He  poured  cold  water  on  his  head  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  or  so,  and  then  tried  reading  it  aloud. 

This  was  worse  than  any  previous  method,  because  he 
comprehended  no  more  of  the  poet's  meaning,  and  the 
rough  hard  words  made  his  front  teeth  crack  and  fly 
about  the  room  in  splinters. 

"  Cffisar's  ghost !"  he  exclaimed,  thinking  what  he  should 
do  if  Robert  Browning  talked  as  he  wrote.  "  The  human 
jaw  isn't  built  that  could  stand  it." 

Two  hours  were  gone.  There  ought  to  have  been  ten 
volumes  got  through,  and  not  ten  pages  finished  of  a 
single  one. 

He   hurled  J^i^ne  to   the  other  end  of  the  room,  and 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  29! 

took  another  work  by  the  same  poet.  It  was  Red  Cotton 
Nightcap  Country^  and  the  title  looked  promising.  No 
doubt  a  light  and  pretty  fairy  story.  Also  the  beginning 
reeled  itself  off  with  a  fatal  facility  which  allured  the 
reader  onwards. 

When  the  clock  struck  six  he  was  sitting  among  the 
volumes  on  the  table,  with  Red  Cotton  Nightcap  Country 
still  in  his  hand.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot,  his  hair  was 
pushed  in  disorder  about  his  head,  his  cheeks  were 
flushed,  his  hands  were  trembling,  the  nerves  in  his  face 
were  twitching. 

He  looked  about  him  wildly,  and  tried  to  collect  his 
faculties.  Then  he  arose  and  cursed  Robert  Browning. 
He  cursed  him  eating,  drinking,  and  sleeping.  And  then 
he  took  all  his  volumes,  and  disposing  them  carefully  in 
the  fire-place,  he  set  light  to  them. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said,  "that  I  could  put  the  Poet  there, 
too."  I  think  he  would  have  done  it,  this  mild  and  gen- 
tle-hearted stranger,  so  strongly  was  his  spirit  moved  to 
wrath. 

He  could  not  stay  any  longer  in  the  room.  It  seemed 
to  be  haunted  with  ghosts  of  unintelligible  sentences; 
things  in  familiar  garb,  which  floated  before  his  eyes  and 
presented  faces  of  inscrutable  mystery.  He  seized  his 
hat  and  fled. 

He  went  straight  to  Jack  Dunquerque's  club,  and  found 
that  hero  in  the  reading-room. 

"  I  have  a  favour  to  ask  you,"  he  began  in  a  hurried 
and  nervous  manner.  "  If  you  have  not  yet  asked  Mr. 
Robert  Browning  to  the  little  spread  next  week,  don't, 

"  Certainly  not,  if  you  wish  it.    Why  ?" 

"  Because,  sir,  I  have  spent  eight  hours  over  his 
works." 

Jack  laughed. 

"  And  you  think  you  have  gone  off  your  head  ?  I'll  tell 
you  a  secret.     Everybody  does  at   first;  and  then  we  all 


292  THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

fall  into  the  dodge,  and  go  about  pretending  to  under- 
stand him." 

"But  the  meaning,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  the  meaning?" 

"  Hush  !  hthasntgot  any.  Only  no  one  dares  to  say 
so,  and  it's  intellectual  to  admire  him." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  I  guess  I  don't  want  to  see 
that  writer  at  my  dinner,  anyhow." 

"  Very  well,  then.     He  shall  not  be  asked." 

"  Another  day  like  this,  and  you  may  bury  me  with  my 
boots  on.  Come  with  me  somewhere,  and  have  dinner  as 
far  away  from  those  volumes  of  Mr.  Browning  as  we  can 
get  in  the  time." 

They  dined  at  Greenwich.  In  the  course  of  the  next 
three  days  Gilead  Beck  read  diligently.  He  did  not 
master  the  three  hundred  volumes,  but  he  got  through 
some  of  the  works  of  every  writer,  taking  them  in  turn. 

The  result  was  a  glorious  and  inextricable  mess. 
Carlyle,  Swineburne,  Huxley,  Darwin,Tennyson,  and  all  of 
them,  were  hopelessly  jumbled  in  his  brains.  He  mixed 
up  the  Sartor  Resartus  with  the  Missing  Link,  confounded 
the  history  of  Frederick  the  Great  with  that  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  and  thought  thsit  Maud  and  Atalanta  in  Calydoti 
were  written  by  the  same  poet.  But  time  went  on,  and 
the  Wednesday  evening,  to  which  he  looked  forward  with 
so  much  anxiety  and  pride,  rapidly  drew  near. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

"  Why,  she  Is  cold  to  all  the  world." 

AND  while  Gilead  Beck  was  setting  himself  to  repair 
in  a  week  the  defects  of  his  early  education,  Jack 
Dunquerque  was  spending  his  days  hovering  round  the 
light  of  Phillis's  eyes.  The  infatuated  youth  frequented 
the  house  as  if  it  was  his  own.  He  liked  it,  Mrs.  L'Es- 
trange  liked  it,  and  Phillis  liked  it.    Agatha  looked  with 


THE  GOLDEN  BUTTERFLY.  293 

matronly  suspicion  for  indications  and  proofs  of  love  in 
her  ward's  face.  She  saw  none,  because  Philis  was  not  in 
love  at  all.  Jack  to  her  was  the  first  friend  she  made  on 
commg  out  of  her  shell.  Very  far,  indeed,  from  being  in 
love.  Jack  looked  too  for  any  ot  those  signs  of  mental 
agitation  which  accompany,  or  are  supposed  to  accom- 
pany, the  birth  of  love.  There  were  none.  Her  face  lit 
up  when  she  saw  him;  she  treated  him  with  the  frankness 
of  a  girl  who  tells  her  brother  everything;  but  she  did  not 
blush  when  she  saw  him,  nor  was  she  ever  otherwise  than 
the  sweetest  and  lightest-hearted  of  sisters.  He  knew  it, 
and  he  groaned  to  think  of  it.  The  slightest  sign  would 
have  encouraged  him  to  speak;  the  smallest  indication 
that  Phillis  felt  something  for  him  of  what  he  felt  for  her 
would  have  been  to  him  a  command  to  tell  what  was  in 
his  heart.  But  she  made  no  sign.  It  was  Jack's  experi- 
ence, perhaps,  which  taught  him  that  he  is  a  fool  who 
gives  his  happiness  to  a  woman  before  he  has  learned  to 
divine  her  heart.  Those  ever  make  the  most  foolish  mar- 
riages who  are  most  ignorant  of  the  sex.  Hooker,  the 
Judicious  is  a  case  in  point,  and  many  a  ghostly  man 
could,  from  his  country  parsonage,  tell  the  same  tale. 

Jack  was  not  like  the  Judicious  Divine;  he  was  wary, 
though  susceptible;  he  had  his  share  of  craft  and  subtlety; 
and  yet  he  was  in  love,  in  spite  of  all  that  craft,  with  a  girl 
who  only  liked  him  in  return. 

Had  he  possessed  greater  power  of  imagination  he 
would  have  understood  that  he  was  expecting  what  was 
impossible.  You  cannot  get  wine  out  of  an  empty  bottle, 
nor  reap  corn  without  first  sowing  the  seed;  and  he  forgot 
that  Phillis,  who  was  unable  to  read  novels,  knew  noth- 
ing, positively  nothing,  of  that  great  passion  of  Love 
which  makes  its  victims  half  divine.  It  was  always  neces- 
sary, in  thinking  of  this  girl,  to  remember  her  thirteen 
years  of  captivity.  Jack,  more  than  any  other  person, 
not  excepting  Agatha  L'Estrange,  knew  what  she  would 
say  and   think   on  most    things.     Only  in    this    matter 


294  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

of  love  he  was  at  fault.  Here  he  did  not  know 
because  here  he  was  selfish.  To  all  the  world 
except  Jack  and  Agatha  she  was  an  ifnpossible  girl  ; 
she  said  things  that  no  other  girl  would  have  said  ; 
she  thought  as  no  one  else  thought.  To  all 
those  who  live  in  a  tight  little  island  of  their  own,  fortified 
by  triple  batteries  of  dogma,  she  was  impossible.  But  to 
those  who  accepted  and  comprehended  the  conditions  of 
Phillis's  education  she  was  possible,  real,  charming,  and 
full  of  interest. 

Jack  continually  thought  what  Phillis  would  say  and 
what  she  would  think.  For  her  sake  he  noticed  the  little 
things  around  him,  the  things  among  which  we  grow  up 
unobservant.  We  see  so  little  for  the  most  part.  Things 
to  eat  and  drink  interest  us  ;  things  that  please  the  eye  ; 
fair  women  and  rare  wine.  We  are  like  cattle  grazing  on 
the  slopes  of  the  Alps.  Around  us  rise  the  mountains, 
with  their  ever-changing  marvels  of  light  and  colour  ;  the 
sunlight  flashes  from  their  peaks  ;  the  snow-slopes  stretch 
away  and  upwards  to  the  deep  blues  beyond  in  curves  as 
graceful  as  the  line  of  woman's  beauty  ;  at  our  feet  is  the 
belt  of  pines  perfumed  and  warmed  by  the  summer  air  ; 
the  mountain  stream  leaps,  bubbles,  and  laughs,  rushing 
from  the  prison  of  its  glacier  cave  ;  high  overhead  soars 
the  Alpine  eagle  ;  the  shepherds  jodel  in  the  valleys  ;  the 
rapid  echoes  roll  the  song  up  into  the  immeasurable  silence 
of  the  hills, — and  amid  all  this  we  browse  and  feed,  eyes 
downward  turned. 

So  this  young  man,  awakened  by  the  quick  sympathies 
of  the  girl  he  loved,  lifted  his  head,  taught  by  her,  and 
tried  to  catch,  he  too,  something  of  the  childlike  wonder, 
the  appreciative  admiration,  the  curious  enthusiasm,  with 
which  she  saw  everything.  Most  men's  thoughts  are 
bound  by  the  limits  of  their  club  at  night,  and  their  cham- 
bers or  their  offices  by  day  ;  the  suns  rise  and  set,  and  the 
outward  world  is  unregarded.  Jack  learned  from  Phillis 
to  look  at  these  unregarded  things.    Such  simple  pleasures 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY,  295 

as  a  sunset,  the  light  upon  the  river,  the  wild  flowers  on  the 
bank,  he  actually  tasted  with  delight,  provided  that  she 
was  beside  him.  And  after  a  day  of  such  Arcadian 
joys  he  would  return  to  town,  and  find  the  club  a 
thirsty  desert. 

If  Phillis  had  known  anything  about  love,  she  would 
have  fallen  in  love  with  Jack  long  before  ;  but  she  did  not. 
Yet  he  made  headway  with  her,  because  he  became  almost 
necessary  to  her  life.  She  looked  for  his  coming  ;  he 
brought  her  things  he  had  collected  in  his  "  globe  trot- 
ting;" he  told  her  stories  of  adventure  ;  he  ruined  him- 
self in  pictures  ;  and  then  he  looked  for  the  love  soften- 
ing of  her  eyes,  and  it  came  not  at  all. 

Yet  Jack  was  a  lovable  sort  of  young  man  in  maidens* 
eyes.  Everybody  liked  him  to  begin  with.  He  was,  like 
David,  a  youth  of  a  cheerful,  if  not  of  a  ruddy  counten- 
ance. Agatha  L'Estrange  remarked  of  him  that  it  did  her 
good  to  meet  cheerful  young  men — they  were  so  scarce. 
"  I  know  quantities  of  young  men,  Phillis  my  dear  ;  and  I 
assure  you  that  most  of  them  are  enough  to  break  a 
woman's  heart  even  to  think  of.  There  is  the  athletic 
young  man — he  is  dreadful  indeed,  only  his  time  soon 
goes  by ;  and  there  is  the  young  man  who  talks  about 
getting  more  brain  power.  To  be  sure,  he  generally  looks 
as  if  he  wants  it.  There  is  the  young  man  who  ought  to 
turn  red  and  hot  when  the  word  Prig  is  used.  There  is 
the  bad  young  man  who  keeps  betting-books  ;  and  the 
miserable  young  man  who  grovels  and  flops  in  a  Ritualist 
church.  I  know  young  men  who  are  envious  and  back- 
bite their  friends  ;  and  young  men  who  aspire  to  be  some- 
body else  ;  and  young  men  who  pose  as  infidels,  and 
would  rather  be  held  up  to  execration  in  a  paper  than  not 
to  be  mentioned  at  all.  But,  my  dear,  I  don't  know  any- 
body who  is  so  cheerful  and  contented  as  Jack.  He  isn't 
clever  and  learned,  but  he  doesn't  want  to  be  ;  he  isn't 
sharp,  and  will  never  make  money,  but  he  is  better  with- 
out it  ;  and  he  is  true,  I  am  sure." 


296  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

Agatha  unconsciously  used  the  word  in  the  sense  which 
most  women  mean  when  they  speak  of  a  man's  truth. 
Philhs  understood  it  to  mean  that  Jack  Dunquerque  did 
not  habitually  tell  fibs,  and  thought  the  remark  superflu- 
ous. But  it  will  be  observed  that  Agatha  was  fighting 
Jack's  battle  for  him. 

After  all,  Jack  might  have  taken  heart  had  he  thought 
that  all  these  visits  and  all  this  interest  in  himself  were  but 
the  laying  of  the  seed,  which  might  grow  into  a  goodly 
tree. 

**  If  only  she  would  look  as  if  she  cared  for  me,  Tom- 
my," he  bemoaned  to  Ladds. 

"  Hang  it  !  can't  expect  a  girl  to  begin  making  eyes  at 
you." 

"  Eyes  !  Phillis  make  eyes  !  Tommy,  as  you  grow 
older  you  grow  coarser.  It's  a  great  pity.  That  comes 
of  this  club  life.     Always  smoking  and  playing  cards." 

Tommy  grinned.  Virtue  was  as  yet  a  flower  new  to 
Jack  Dunquerque's  buttonhole,  and  he  wore  it  with  a 
pride  difficult  to  dissemble. 

"  Better  go  and  have  it  out  with  Colquhoun,"  Tommy 
advised.  "  He  won't  care.  He's  taken  up  with  his  old 
flame,  Mrs.  Cassilis,  again.  Always  dangling  at  her  heels, 
I'm  told.  Got  no  time  to  think  of  Miss  Fleming.  Great 
fool,  Colquhoun.  Always  was  a  fool,  I  believe.  Might 
have  gone  after  flesh  and  blood  instead  of  a  marble 
statue.     Wonder  how  Cassilis  likes  it." 

"  There  you  go,"  cried  Jack  impatiently.  "  Men  are 
worse  than  women.  At  Twickenham  one  never  hears  this 
foolish  sort  of  gossip." 

•'Suppose  not.  Flowers ^and  music,  muffins,  tea,  and 
spoons.  Well,  the  girl's  worth  it.  Jack;  the  more  flowers 
and  music  you  get  the  better  it  will  be  for  you.  But  go 
on  and  square  it  with  Colquhoun." 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERiLV.  297 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 


"  A  right  royal  banquet.*' 


AT  seven  o'clock  on  the  great  Wednesday  Gilead  Beck 
was  pacing  restlessly  in  his  inner  room,  the  small 
apartment  which  formed  his  sanctum,  waiting  to  receive 
his  guests.  All  the  preparations  were  complete  :  a  quar- 
tette ol  singers  was  m  readiness,  with  a  piano,  to  discourse 
sweet  music  after  the  dinner;  the  noblest  bouquet  ever 
ordered  at  the  Langham  was  timed  for  a  quarter  to  eight 
punctually;  the  wine  was  in  ice;  the  waiters  were  adding 
the  last  touches  to  the  artistic  decorations  of  a  table 
which,  laid  for  thirteen  only,  might  have  been  prepared 
for  the  Prince  of  Wales.  In  fact,  when  the  bill  came  up 
a  few  days  later,  even  Gilead  Beck,  man  of  millions, 
quailed  for  a  moment  before  its  total.  Think  of  the  big- 
gest bili  you  ever  had  at  V^four's — for  francs  read 
pounds,  and  then  multiply  by  ten;  think  of  the  famous 
Lord  Warden  bill  for  the  Emperor  Napoleon  when  he 
landed  in  all  his  glory,  and  then  consider  that  the  man- 
agement of  the  Langham  is  in  no  way  behind  that  of  the 
Dovet  hostelry.  But  this  was  to  come,  and  when  it  did 
come,  was  received  lightly. 

Gilead  Beck  took  a  last  look  at  the  dinner-table.  The 
few  special  injunctions  he  had  given  were  carried  out; 
they  were  not  many,  only  that  the  shutters  should  be 
partly  closed  and  the  curtains  drawn,  so  that  they  might 
dine  by  artificial  light;  that  the  table  and  the  room  should 


298  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

be  entirely  illuminated  by  wax-candles,  save  for  one  cen- 
tral light,  in  which  should  be  burning,  like  the  sacred 
flame  of  Vesta,  his  own  rock-oil.  He  also  stipulated  that 
the  flowers  on  the  table  should  be  disposed  in  shallow 
vessels,  so  as  to  lie  low,  and  not  interfere  with  the  free- 
dom of  the  eyes  across  the  table.  Thus  there  was  no 
central  tower  of  flowers  and  fruit.  To  compensate  for 
this  he  allowed  a  whole  bower  of  exotics  to  be  erected 
round  the  room. 

The  long  wall  opposite  the  window  was  decorated  with 
his  famous  piece  by  an  unknown  master,  bought  of  Barth 
olomew  Burls,  known  as  "  Sisera  and  Jael."'  As  the  frame 
had  not  yet  been  made  it  was  wreathed  about  for  its 
whole  length  and  breadth  with  flowers.  The  other  pictures, 
also  wreathed  with  flowers,  were  genuine  originals,  bought 
of  the  same  famous  collector.  For  the  end  of  the  room 
Gilead  Beck  had  himself  designed,  and  partly  erected 
with  his  own  hands,  an  allegorical  trophy.  From  a  pile  of 
books  neatly  worked  in  cork,  there  sprang  a  jet  of  water 
illuminated  on  either  side  by  a  hidden  lamp  burning  rock- 
oil.  He  had  wished  to  have  the  fountain  itself  of  oil, 
but  was  overruled  by  Jack  Dunquerque.  Above, 
by  an  invisible  wire,  hovered  a  golden  butterfly 
in  gilded  paper.  And  on  either  side  hung  a  flag — that  on 
the  right  displaying  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  that  on  the  left 
the  equally  illustrious  Union  Jack. 

At  every  man's  place  lay  a  copy  of  the  menu^  in  green 
and  gold,  elaborately  decorated,  a  mascerpiece  of  illumi- 
nation. Gilead  Beck,  after  making  quite  sure  that  noth- 
ing was  neglected,  took  his  own,  and,  retiring  to  the  inner 
room,  read  it  for  the  fiftieth  time  with  a  pleasure  as  in- 
tense as  that  of  the  young  author  who  reads  his  first 
proof-sheet.  It  consisted  of  a  large  double  card.  On 
the  top  of  the  left-hand  side  was  painted  in  colours  and 
gold  a  butterfly.  And  that  side  n  ad  as  follows  (I  re- 
gret that  the  splendours  of  the  original  cannot  be  here 
reproduced) : 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 


299 


LANGHAM     HOTELy 

May  20,  1875. 


Dinner  in  Honour  of  Literature,  Science,  and  Art, 

GIVEN  BY 

GILEAD    P.  BECK, 

AN    OBSCURE    AMERICAN  CITIZEN     RAISED    AT    LEXINGTON, 

WHO   STRUCK  ILE    IN   A    MOST    SURPRISING    MANNER 

BY   THE   HELP   OF 

THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY, 

BUT  WHO   DESPISES   SHODDY  AND   RESPECTS  GENIUS. 


Representatives  of  Literature,  Art,  and  Science. 


Thomas  Carlyle, 
Alfred  Tennyson, 
John  Ruskin. 
Algernon  Swinburne. 
George  Augustus  Sala, 


Charles  Darwin, 
Professor  Huxley, 
Frederick  Leighton,  R.  A. 
Cornelius  Jagenal,  and 
Humphrey  Jagenal, 


WITH  CAPTAIN  LADDS,  THE    HON.  RONALD  DUNQUKHQUB, 
AND  GILEAD  P.  BECK. 


After  this  preamble,  which  occupied  a  whole  side  of  the 
double  card,  followed  the  menu  itself. 

I  unwillingly  suppress  this.  There  are  weaker  brethren 
who  might  on  reading  it  feel  dissatisfied  with  the  plain 
lamb  and  rhubarb-tart  of  the  sweet  spring  season.  As  a 
present  dignitary  of  the  Church,  now  a  colonial  bishop, 
once  a  curate,  observed  to  me  many  years  ago,  h  propos 
of  thirst,  university  reminiscences,  a  neighbouring  public- 
house,  a  craving  for  tobacco,  and  the  fear  of  being  ob- 
served, "  These  weaker  brethren  are  a  great  nuisance." 

Let  it  suffice  that  at  the  Langham  they  still  speak  of 
Gilead  Beck's  great  dinner  with  tears  in  their  eyes.  I 
believe  a  copy  of  the  gr'^en  and  gold  card  is  framed,  and 


300  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

hung  in  the  office  so  as  to  catch  the  eye  of  poorer  men 
when  they  are  ordering  dinners.  It  makes  those  of  lower 
nature  feel  envious,  and  even  takes  the  conceit  out  of  the 
nobler  kind. 

Gilead  Beck,  dressed  for  the  banquet,  was  nervous  and 
restless.  It  seemed  as  if,  for  the  first  time,  his  wealth 
was  about  to  bring  him  something  worth  having.  His 
face,  always  grave,  was  as  solemn  as  if  he  were  fixing  it 
for  his  own  funeral.  From  time  to  time  he  drew  a  paper 
from  his  pocket  and  read  it  over.  Then  he  replaced  it, 
and  with  lips  and  arms  went  through  the  action  of 
speaking.  It  was  his  speech  of  the  evening,  which  he  had 
carefully  written  and  imperfectly  committed  to  memory. 
Like  a  famous  American  lawyer,  the  attitude  he  assumed 
was  to  stand  bent  a  little  forward,  the  feet  together,  the 
left  hand  hanging  loosely  at  his  side,  while  he  brandished 
the  right  above  his  head. 

In  this  attitude  he  was  surprised  by  the  Twins,  who 
came  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  time.  They  were 
dressed  with  great  care,  having  each  the  sweetest  little 
eighteenpenny  bouquet,  bought  from  the  little  shop 
at  the  right  hand  of  the  Market  as  you  go  in,  where 
the  young  lady  makes  it  up  before  your  eyes,  sticks 
the  wire  into  it,  and  pins  it  at  your  buttonhole  with 
her  own  fair  hands.  Each  brother  in  turn  winked 
at  her  during  the  operation.  A  harmless  wink,  but  it 
suggested  no  end  of  possible  devilries  should  these  two 
young  gentlemen  of  fifty  find  themselves  loose  upon  the 
town.  Those  who  saw  it  thought  of  Mohocks,  and  praised 
the  Lord  for  the  new  police. 

They  both  looked  very  nice;  they  entered  with  a  jaunty 
step,  a  careless  backward  toss  of  the  head,  parted  lips,  and 
bright  eyes  which  faced  fearlessly  a  critical  but  reverent 
world.  Nothing  but  the  crow's-feet  showed  that  the  first 
glow  of  youth  was  over;  nothing  but  a  few  streaks  of  grey 
in  Humphrey's  beard  and  in  Cornelius's  hair  showed  that 
they  were  nearing  the  Indian  summer  of  life.     Mr.  Beck, 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  30I 

seeing  them  enter  so  fresh,  so  bright,  and  so  beaming, 
was  more  than  ever  puzzled  at  their  age.  He  was  waiting 
for  them  in  a  nervous  and  rather  excitable  state  of  mind, 
as  becomes  one  who  is  about  to  find  himself  face  to  face 
with  the  greatest  men  of  his  time. 

"  You,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  will  sit  near  me,  one  each 
side,  if  you  will  be  so  kind,  just  to  lend  a  helping-hand  to 
the  talk  when  it  flags.  Phew  !  it  will  be  a  rasper,  the  talk 
of  to-day.  I've  read  all  their  works,  if  I  can  only  remem- 
ber them,  and  I  bought  the  History  of  English  Literature 
yesterday  to  get  a  grip  of  the  hull  subject.  No  use.  I 
haven't  got  farther  than  Chaucer.  Do  you  think  they 
can  talk  about  Chaucer  ?  He  wrote  the  Canterbury 
Talcsr 

•'  Cornelius,"  said  Humphrey,  "  you  will  be  able  to  lead 
the  conversation  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  period." 

"That  period  is  too  early,  brother  Humphrey,"  said 
Cornelius.  "  We  shall  trust  to  you  to  turn  the  steam  in 
the  direction  of  the  Renaissance." 

Humphrey  shifted  in  his  seat  uneasily.     Why  this  un- 
willingness in  either  Twin  to  assume  the  lead  on   a  topic 
which  had  engaged  his  attention  for  twenty  years  ? 
Mr.  Beck  shook  his  head. 

"I  most  wish  now,  he  said,  "that  I  hadn't  asked  them. 
But  it's  a  thundering  great  honour.  Mr.  Dunquerque  did 
it  all  for  me.  That  young  gentleman  met  these  great 
writers,  I  suppose,  in  the  baronial  halls  of  his  brother,  the 
Earl  of  Isleworth." 

"  Do  we  know  Lord  Isleworth  ?"  asked  Cornelius 
of  Humphrey. 

"Lord  Isleworth,  Cornelius  ?  No;  I  rather  think  we 
have  never  met  him,"  said  Humphrey  to  Cornelius. 

"  None  of  your  small  names  to-night,"  said  Gilead 
Beck,  with  serious  and  even  pious  joy.  "  The  Lord  Mayor 
may  have  them  at  Guildhall.  Mine  are  the  big  guns.  I 
did  want  to  get  a  special  report  for  my  own  Gazette,  but 
Mr.  Dunquerque  thought  it  better  not  to  have  it.    P'r'aps 


302  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

'twould  have  seemed  kind  o'  shoddy.  I  ought  to  be  sat- 
isfied with  the  private  honour,  and  not  want  the  public 
glory  of  it.  What  would  they  say  in  Boston  if  they  knew, 
or  even  in  New  York  ?" 

"  You  should  have  a  dinner  for  poets  alone,"  said  Hum- 
phrey, anxious  for  his  brother. 

"  Or  for  Artists  only,"  said  Cornelius. 

"Wal,  gentlemen,  we  shall  get  on.  As  there's  five 
minutes  to  spare,  would  you  like  to  give  an  opinion  on  the 
wine-list,  and  oblige  me  by  your  advice  ?" 

The  Twins  perused  the  latter  document  with  sparkhng 
eyes.  It  was  a  noble  list.  Gilead  Beck's  plan  was  simple. 
He  just  ordered  the  best  of  everything.  For  Sauterne, 
he  read  Chdteau  Iquem:  for  Burgundy,  he  took  Chamber- 
tin;  for  Claret,  Chateau  Lafite;  for  Champagne,  Heid- 
sieck;  for  Sherry,  Montilla;  a  Box  Boutel  wine  for  Hock; 
and  for  Port  the  '34.  Never  before,  in  all  its  experiences 
of  Americans,  Russians,  and  returned  colonials,  had  the 
management  of  the  Langham  so  "  thorough  "  a  wine-bill 
to  make  out  as  for  this  dinner. 

"  Is  that  satisfactory,  gentlemen  V 

"  Cornelius,  what  do  you  think  ?" 

"Humphrey,  I  think  as  you  do;  and  that  is,  that  this 
princely  selection  shows  Mr.  Beck's  true  appreciation  of 
Literature  and  Art," 

"  It  is  kind  of  you,  gentlemen,  to  say  so.  I  talked  over 
the  dinner  with  the  chef,  and  I  have  had  the  menou 
printed,  as  you  see  it,  in  gilt  and  colours,  which  I  am 
given  to  understand  is  the  correct  thing  at  the  Guildhall, 
Would  you  like  to  look  at  that  ?" 

They  showed  the  greatest  desire  to  look  at  it.  Hum- 
phrey read  it  aloud  with  emphasis.  While  he  read  and 
while  his  brother  listened,  Mr.  Beck  thought  they  seemed 
a  good,  deal  older  than  before.  Perhaps  that  was  be- 
fore their  faces  were  turned  to  the  light,  and  the  reflec- 
tion through  an  open  window  of  the  sinking  sun  showed 
up  the  crow's-feet  round  their  eyes. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  303 

"  Humph  !  Plovers'  eggs.  Clear  mulligatawny  ;  clear, 
Cornelius.     Turtle-fins.     Salmon — I  translate  the  French. 

Turbot.     Lochleven  trout  " 

"  Very  good  indeed,  so  far,"  said  Cornelius,  with  a  pal- 
pable smack  of  his  lips. 

"  Lamb-cutlets  with  peas — a  simple  but  excellent  dish  ; 
aspic  of  fot'e  gras — ah,  two  or  three  things  which  I  cannot 
translate  ;  a  preparation  of  pigeon  ;    haunch  of  venison  ; 

yes  " 

"An  excellent  dinner,  indeed,"  said  Cornelius.  "  Pray 
go  on,  Humphrey." 

He  began  to  feel  like  Sancho  in  Barataria.  So  good  a 
dinner  seemed  really  impossible. 

•*  Duckling  ;  cabob  curry  of  chicken-liver  with  Bombay 
ducks — really,  Mr.  Beck,  this  dinner  is  worth  a  duke- 
dom." 

"  It  is  indeed,"  said  Cornelius  feelingly. 
"Canvas-back — ah  ! — from  Baltimore — Cornelius,  this 
is  almost  too  much  ;  apricots  in  jelly,  ice-pudding,  grated 
Parmesan,  strawberries,  melons,  peaches,  nectarines,  (and 
only  May,  Cornelius  !),  pines.  West  India  bananas,  cus- 
tard apples  from  Jamaica,  and  dried  letchis  from  China, 
Cornelius." 

Humphrey  handed  the  document  to  his  brother 
with  a  look  of  appeal  which  said  volumes.  One  sen- 
tence in  the  volumes  was  clearly,  "  Say  something 
appropriate." 

Quoth  Cornelius  deeply  moved — 

"  This  new  Maecenas  ransacks  the  corners  of  the  earth 
to  find  a  fitting  entertainment  for  men  of  genius.  Hum- 
phrey, you  shall  paint  him." 

"  Cornelius,  you  shall  sing  his  praises." 
By  a   simultaneous   impulse  the   Twins  turned  to  their 
patron,  and   presented  each  a  right  hand.     Gilead  Beck 
had  only  one  right  hand  to  give.     He   gave  that  to  Cor- 
nelius, and  the  left  to  Humphrey. 

While  this  sacrament  of  friendship  was  proceeding  was 


304  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

heard  a  sound  as  of  many  men  simultaneously  stifling 
much  laughter.  The  door  opened,  and  the  other  guests 
arrived  in  a  body.  They  were  preceded  by  Jack  Dun- 
querque,  and  on  entering  the  room  dropped,  as  if  by 
word  of  command,  into  line,  like  soldiers  on  parade. 
Eight  of  them  were  strangers,  but  Captain  Ladds  brought 
up  the  rear. 

They  were,  as  might  be  expected  of  such  great  men,  a 
remarkable  assemblage.  At  the  extreme  right  stood  a 
tall  well-set-up  old  man,  with  tangled  grey  locks,  long 
grey  eye-brows,  and  an  immense  grey  beard.  His  vigor- 
ous bearing  belied  the  look  of  age,  and  what  part  of  his 
face  could  be  seen  had  a  remarkably  youthful  ap- 
pearance. 

Next  to  him  were  other  two  aged  men,  one  of  whom 
was  bent  and  bowed  by  the  weight  of  years.  They  also 
had  large  eyebrows  and  long  grey  beards  ;  and  Mr.  Beck 
remarked  at  once  that  so  far  as  could  be  judged  from  the 
brightness  of  their  eyes  they  had  wonderfully  preserved 
their  mental  strength.  The  others  were  younger  men, 
one  of  them  being  apparently  a  boy  of  eighteen  or  so. 

Then  followed  a  ceremony  like  a  levee.  Gilead  Beck 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  the  table  having  been 
pushed  back  into  the  corner.  He  was  supported,  right  and 
left,  by  the  Twins,  who  formed  a  kind  of  Court,  and 
above  whom  he  towered  grandly  with  his  height  of  six- 
feet-two.  He  held  himself  as  erect,  and  looked  as  solemn 
as  if  he  were  the  President  of  the  United  States.  The 
Twins,  for  their  part,  looked  a  little  as  if  they  were  his 
sons. 

Jack  Dunquerque  acted  as  Lord  Chamberlain  or  Mas- 
ter of  the  Ceremonies.  He  wore  an  anxious  face,  and 
looked  round  among  the  great  men  whom  he  preceded, 
as  soon  as  they  had  all  filed  in,  with  a  glance  which 
might  have  meant  admonition,  had  that  been  possible. 
And,  indeed,  a  broad  smile,  which  was  hovering  like  the 
sunlight   upon   their   venerable  faces,  disappeared  at  the 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  305 

frown  of  this  young  gentleman.     It  was  very  curious. 

It  was  in  the  Grand  Manner — that  peculiar  to  Courts — 
in  which  Jack  Dunquerque  presented  the  first  of  the  dis- 
tinguished guests  to  Mr.  Beck. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  with  low  and  awe-struck  voice,  "before 
you  stands  Thomas  Carlyle." 

A  thrill  ran  through  the  American's  veins  as  he  grasped 
the  hand  which  had  written  so  many  splendid  things,  and 
looked  into  the  eyes  which  harboured  such  splendid 
thought.  Then  he  said,  in  softened  tones,  because  his 
soul  was  moved  ;  "  This  is  a  proud  moment,  sir,  for 
Gilead  P.  Beck.  I  never  thought  to  have  shaken  by  the 
hand  the  author  of  the  French  Revolution  and  the  Stones 
of  Venice.'' 

(It  really  was  unfortunate  that  his  reading  had  been  so 
miscellaneous  during  the  four  days  preceding  the 
dinner.) 

The  venerable  Philosopher  opened  his  mouth  and  spake. 
His  tones  were  deep  and  his  utterance  slow. 

"  You  are  proud,  Mr.  Beck  ?  The  only  Pride  should 
be  the  pride  of  work.  Beautiful  the  meanest  thing  that 
works;  even  the  rusty  and  unmusical  Meatjack.  Ail  else 
belongs  to  the  outlook  of  him  whom  men  call  Beelzebub. 
The  brief  Day  passes  with  its  poor  paper  crowns  in  tinsel 
gilt;  Night  is  at  hand  with  her  silences  and  her  veracities. 
What  hast  thou  done  ?  All  the  rest  is  phantasmal.  Work 
only  remains.     Say,  brother,  what  is  thy  work  ?" 

"  I  have  struck  He,"  replied  Gilead  proudly,  feeling 
that  his  Work  (with  a  capital  W)  had  been  well  and 
thoroughly  done. 

The  Philosopher  stepped  aside. 

Jack  Dunquerque  brought  up  the  next. 

"  Mr.  Beck,  Alfred  Tennyson,  the  Poet  Laureate." 

This  time  it  was  a  man  with  robust  frame  and  strongly- 
marked  features.  He  wore  a  long  black  beard,  streaked 
with  grey  and  rather  ragged,  with  a  ragged  mass  of  black 
hair,  looking  as   he   did  at  Oxford  when  they  made  him 


306  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

an  honorary  D.C.L.,  and  an  undergraduate  from  the  gal- 
lery asked  him  politely,"Z>/^  they  wake  and  call  you  early?" 

"  Mr.  Tennyson,"  said  Mr.  Beck,  "  I  do  assure  you,  sir, 
that  this  is  the  kindest  thing  that  has  been  done  to  me 
since  I  came  to  England.  I  hope  I  see  you  well,  sir.  I 
read  your  Fifine  at  the  Fair,  sir — no,  that  was  the  other 
man's — I  mean,  sir,  your  Songs  before  Sunrise  ;  and  I  con- 
gratulate you.  We've  got  some  poets  on  our  side  of  the 
water,  sir.  I've  written  poetry  myself  for  the  papers. 
We've  got  Longfellow  and  Lowell,  and  take  out  you  and 
Mr.  Swinburne,  with  them  we'll  meet  your  lot." 

Mr.  Tennyson  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  but  shut  it 
again  in  silence,  and  looking  at  Jack  mournfully  as  if  he 
had  forgotten  something,  he  stepped  aside. 

Jack  presented  another. 

•*  Mr.  John  Ruskin." 

A  sharp-featured,  clever-looking  man,  with  grey  locks 
and  shaven  face.  He  seized  Mr.  Beck  by  the  hand  and 
spoke  first,  not  giving  his  host  time  to  utter  his  little  set 
speech. 

"I  welcome,  he  said,  "  one  of  our  fellow- workers  from 
the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  I  cannot  utter  to  you  what 
I  would.  We  all  see  too  dimly  as  yet  what  are  our  great 
world-duties,  for  we  try  and  outline  their  enlarging 
shadows.  You  in  America  do  not  seek  peace  as  Mena- 
hem  sought  it,  when  he  gave  the  King  of  Assyria  a  thou- 
sand pieces  of  silver.  You  fight  for  your  peace  and  have 
it.  You  do  not  buy  what  you  want;  you  take  it.  That  is 
strength;  that  is  harmony.  You  do  not  sit  at  home  lisping 
comfortable  prayers;  you  go  out  and  work.  For  many  a 
year  to  come,  sir,  the  sword  of  your  nation  shall  be  whetted 
to  save  and  to  subdue." 

He  stopped  suddenly,  and  closed  his  lips  with  a  snap. 

Mr.  Beck  turned  rather  helplessly  to  the  Twins.  He 
wanted  a  diversion  to  this  utterly  unintelligible  harangue. 
They  stared  straight  before  them,  and  pretended  to  be 
absorbed  in  meditation. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  307 

"  Mr,  Beck,  Mr.  Swinburne.  Deaf  people  think  Mr. 
Browning  is  musical,  sir;  but  all  people  allow  Mr.  Swin- 
burne to  be  the  most  musical  of  poets." 

It  was  the  very  young  man.  He  stood  before  his  host 
and  laughed  aloud. 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Beck,  "  I  have  read  some  of  your  verses. 
I  can't  say  what  they  were  about,  but  I  took  to  singin* 
them  softly  as  I  read  them,  and  I  seemed  to  be  in  a  green 
field,  lyin'  out  among  the  flowers,  while  the  bees  were 
bumrain'  around,  and  the  larks  were  liftin'  their  hymns  in 
the  sky. " 

Mr.  Swinburne  laughed  again  and  made  way  for  the 
next  comer. 

"  Mr.  Beck,  let  me  introduce  Mr.  George  Augustus 
Sala." 

"  This,"  said  the  Man  of  Oil,  "  is  indeed  a  pleasure. 
Mr.  Sala,  when  I  say  that  I  am  an  old  and  personal  friend 
of  Colonel  Quagg,  you  will  be  glad  to  meet  me." 

Contrary  to  reasonable  expectation,  the  face  of  Mr. 
Sala  showed  110  sign  of  joy  at  the  reminiscence.  He  only 
looked  rather  helplessly  at  Jack  Dunquerque,  who  turned 
red,  and  brought  up  the  rest  of  his  men  together,  as  if  to 
get  the  introductions  over  quickly. 

"  Mr,  Beck,  these  gentlemen  are  Mr.  Darwin,  Professor 
Huxley,  and  Mr.  Frederick  Leighton.  Ladds  you  know 
well  enough  already.     Step  up,  Tommy." 

Gilead  Beck  shook  hands  with  each,  and  then,  drawing 
himself  up  to  his  full  height,  laid  his  left  hand  within  his 
waistcoat,  brandished  his  right  above  his  head  with  a  pre- 
liminary flourish,  and  began  his  speech. 

"  Gentlemen  all,"  he  said,  "  I  am  more  than  proud  to 
make  your  acquaintance.  Across  the  foaming  waves  of 
the  mighty  Atlantic  there  is  a  land  whose  institootions — 
known  to  Mr.  Sala — air  not  unlike  your  own,  whose  liter- 
ature is  your  own  up  to  a  hundred  years  ago  ["  Hear, 
hear  !"  from  Cornelius],  whose  language  is  the  same  as 
yours.     We  say  hard  things  of  each  other,  gentlemen;  but 


3o8  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

the  hard  things  are  said  on  the  low  levels,  not  on  the 
heights  where  you  and  your  kindred  spirits  dwell.  No, 
gentlemen," — here  he  raised  both  arms  and  prepared  for 
a  rhetorical  burst, — "  when  the  American  eagle,  proudly 
bearing  the  stars  and  stripes  " 

"  Dinner  on  the  table,  sir !  "  bawled  the  head  waiter, 
throwing  open  the  doors  with  the  grandest  flourish  and 
standing  in  the  open  doorway. 

"  Hear,  hear  !"  cried  Humphrey  a  little  late,  because  he 
meant  the  cheer  for  the  speech,  and  it  sounded  like  a  joy 
bell  ringing  for  the  announcement  of  dinner.  Mr.  Beck 
thought  it  rather  rude,  but  he  did  not  say  so,  and  vented 
his  wrath  upon  the  waiter. 

"  Great  Jehoshaphat  !"  he  cried,  "  can't  you  see  when  a 
gentleman  is  on  the  stump  ?  Who  the  devil  asked  you  to 
shove  in  ?" 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Jack  irreverently.  "  Spout  the 
rest  after  dinner." 

A  sigh  of  relief  escaped  the  lips  of  all,  and  the  party, 
headed,  after  some  demur,  by  the  host,  who  was  escorted, 
one  on  each  side,  like  a  great  man  with  his  private  secre- 
tary, by  the  Twins,  passed  into  the  dining-room. 

Oddly  enough,  when  their  host  passed  on  before  them, 
the  guests  turned  to  each  other,  and  the  same  extraor- 
dinary smile  which  Jack  Dunquerque  checked  on  their 
first  appearance  passed  from  one  to  the  other.  Why 
should  Alfred  Tennyson  look  in  the  face  of  Thomas 
Carlyle  and  laugh  ?  What  secret  relationship  is  there  be- 
tween John  Ruskin,  Swinburne,  and  George  Augustus 
Sala,  that  they  should  snigger  and  grin  on  catching  each 
other's  eyes  ?  And,  if  one  is  to  go  on  asking  questions, 
why  did  Jack  Dunquerque  whisper  in  an  agitated  tone, 
"For  Heaven's  sake,  Tom,  and  you  fellows,  keep  it 
up?" 

There  was  some  little  difficulty  in  seating  the  guests, 
because  they  all  showed  a  bashful  reluctance  to  sittin;^ 
near  their  host,  and  crowded  together  to  the  lower  end. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  309 

At  last,  however,  they  were  settled  down.  Mr.  Carlyle, 
who,  with  a  modesty  worthy  of  his  great  name,  seized  the 
lowest  chair  of  all — on  the  left  of  Jack  Dunquerque,  who 
was  to  occupy  the  end  of  the  table — was  promptly 
dragged  out  and  forcibly  led  to  the  right  of  the  host. 
Facing  him  was  Alfred  Tennyson.  The  Twins,  one  on 
each  side,  came  next.  Mr.  Sala  faced  John  Ruskin.  The 
others  disposed  themselves  as  they  pleased. 

A  little  awkwardness  was  caused  at  the  outset  by  the 
host,  who,  firm  in  the  belief  that  Professor  Huxley  was  in 
the  Moody  and  Sankey  line,  called  upon  him  to  say 
Grace.  The  invitation  was  warmly  seconded  by  all  the 
rest,  but  the  Professor,  greatly  confused,  blushed,  and 
after  a  few  moments  of  reflection  was  fain  to  own  that  he 
knew  no  Grace.  It  was  a  strange  confession,  Gilead  Beck 
thought,  for  a  clergyman.  The  singers,  however — Miss 
Claribelle,  Signers  Altotenoro,  Bassoprofondo,  and  Mr. 
Plantagenet  Simpkins — performed  Non  nobis  with  great 
feeling  and  power,  and  dinner  began. 

It  was  then  that  Gilead  Beck  first  conceived,  against 
his  will,  suspicion  of  the  Twins.  So  far  from  being  the 
backbone  and  stay  of  the  whole  party,  so  far  from  giving 
a  lead  to  the  conversation,  and  leading  up  to  the  topics 
loved  by  the  guests,  they  gave  themselves  unreservedly 
and  from  the  very  first  to  "  tucking  in."  They  went  at 
the  dinner  with  the  go  of  a  Rugby  boy — a  young  gentle- 
man of  Eton  very  soon  teaches  himself  that  the  stomach 
is  not  to  be  trifled  with.  So  did  the  rest.  Considering 
the  overwhelming  amount  of  genius  at  the  table,  and  the 
number  of  years  represented  by  the  guests  collectively,  it 
was  really  wonderful  to  contemplate  the  vigour  with  which 
all,  including  the  octogenarian,  attacked  the  courses,  spar- 
ing none.  Could  it  have  been  believed  by  an  outsider 
that  the  author  of  Maud  was  so  passionately  critical  over 
the  wine  ?  It  is  sad  to  be  disillusionised,  but  pleasant,  on 
the  other  hand,  to  think  that  you  are  no  longer  an  out- 
sider.    Individually  the  party  would  have   disappointed 


3IO  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

their  host,  but  he  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  disappointed. 
Mr.  Beck  expected  a  battery  of  wit.  He  heard  nothing 
but  laudation  of  the  wine  and  remarks  upon  the  cookery. 
No  anecdotes,  no  criticism,  no  literary  talk,  no  poetical 
enthusiasm. 

"  In  my  country,  sir,"  he  began,  glancing  reproachfully 
at  the  Twins,  whose  noses  were  over  their  plates,  and 
feeling  his  way  feebly  to  a  conversation  with  Carlyle, — "in 
my  country,  sir,  I  hope  we  know  how  to  appreciate  what 
we  cannot  do  ourselves." 

Mr.  Carlyle  stared  for  a  moment.     Then  he  replied — 

"  Hope  you  do,  Mr.  Beck,  I'm  sure.  Didn't  know  you'd 
got  so  good  a  ^^^/ at  the  Langham." 

This  was  disheartening,  and  for  a  space  no  one  spoke. 

Presently  Mr.  Carlyle  locked  round  the  table  as  if  he 
was  about  to  make  an  utterance. 

Humphrey  Jagenal,  who  happened  at  the  moment  to 
have  nothing  before  him,  raised  his  hand  and  said  solemn- 
ly^ "  Hush  !  "  Cornelius  bent  forward  in  an  attitude  of 
respectful  attention. 

Said  the  Teacher — 

"  Clear  mulligatawny's  about  the  best  thing  I  know  to 
begin  a  dinner  upon.  Some  fellows  like  Palestine  soup. 
That's  a  mistake." 

"  The  greatest  minds,"  said  Cornelius  to  the  Poet 
Laureate,  "  condescend  to  the  meanest  things," 

"  '  Gad  !  "  said  Tennyson,  "  if  you  call  such  a  dinner  as 
this  mean,  I  wonder  what  you'd  call  respectable." 

Cornelius  felt  snubbed.  But  he  presently  rallied  and 
went  on  again.     It  was  between  the  courses. 

'*  Pray,  Mr.  Carlyle,"  he  asked,  with  the  sweetest  smile, 
"  what  was  the  favourite  soup  of  Herr  TeufelsdrSckh  ?" 

"  Who  i*"  asked  the  Philosopher.  "  Beg  your  pardon, 
Herr  how  much  ?" 

"  From  your  own  work,  Mr.  Carlyle,"  Jack  sang  out 
from  his  end.  It  was  remarkable  to  notice  how  anxiously 
he  followed  the  conversation. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  31I 

"  Oh,  ah  !  quite  so,"  said  Mr.  Carlyle.  "  Well,  you  see, 
the  fact  is  that — Jack  Dunquerque  knows." 

This  was  disconcerting  too,  and  the  more  because  every- 
body began  to  laugh.     What  did  they  laugh  at  ? 

The  dinner  went  on.  Gilead  Beck,  silent  and  grave, 
sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  watching  his  guests.  He 
ought,  he  said  to  himself,  to  be  a  proud  man  that  day. 
But  there  were  one  or  two  crumpled  rose-leaves  in  his  bed. 
One  thing  was  that  he  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  remember 
each  man's  works,  so  as  to  address  him  in  honeyed  tones  of 
adulation.  And  he  also  rightly  judged  that  the  higher  a 
man's  position  in  the  world  of  letters,  the  more  you  must 
pile  up  the  praise.  No  doubt  the  lamented  George  the 
Fourth,  the  Fourteenth  Louis,  and  John  Stuart  Mill,  grew 
et  last  to  believe  in  the  worth  of  the  praise-painting  which 
surrounded  their  names. 

And  then  the  Twins  were  provoking.  Only  one  attempt 
on  the  part  of  Cornelius,  at  which  everybody  laughed. 
And  nothing  at  all  from  Humphrey. 

Carlyle  and  Tennyson,  for  their  part,  sat  perfectly 
silent.  Lower  down — below  the  Twins,  that  is — Sala, 
Huxley,  and  the  others  were  conversing  freely,  but  in  a 
low  tone.  And  when  Gilead  Beck  caught  a  few  words  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  they  talked  of  horse-racing. 

Presently,  to  his  relief,  John  Ruskin  leaned  forward 
and  spoke  to  him. 

"  I  have  been  studying  lately,  Mr.  Beck,  the  Art  growth 
of  America." 

"  Is  that  so,  sir  ?  And  perhaps  you  have  got  something 
lo  tell  my  countrymen  ?" 

"  Perhaps,  Mr.  Beck.  You  doubtless  know  my  prin- 
ciple, that  Art  should  interpret,  not  create.  You  also 
know  that  I  have  preached  all  my  life  the  doctrine  that 
where  Art  is  followed  for  Art's  own  sake,  there  infallibly 
ensues  a  distinction  of  intellectual  and  moral  principles, 
while,  devoted  honestly  and  self-forgetfully  to  the  clear 
statement  and  record  of  the  facts  of  th?  uriiverse,  Art  is 


312  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

always  helpful  and  beneficial  to  mankind.     So  much  you 
know,  Mr,  Beck,  I'm  sure." 

"  Well,  sir,  if  you  would  not  mind  saying  that  over  again 
— slow — I  might  be  able  to  say  I  know  it." 

"  I  have  sometimes  gone  on  to  say,"  pursued  Mr.  Rus- 
kin,  "  that  a  time  has  always  hitherto  come  when,  having 
reached  a  singular  perfection.  Art  begins  to  contemplate 
that  perfection  and  to  deduce  rules  from  it.  Now  all  this 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  relations  between  Art  and 
mental  development  in  the  United  States  of  America." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,  sir,"  said  Gilead  Beck,  a  little 
relieved. 

He  looked  for  help  to  the  Twins,  but  he  leaned  upon  a 
slender  reed,  for  they  were  both  engaged  upon  the  duck- 
ling, and  proffered  no  help  at  all.  They  did  not  even 
seem  to  listen.  The  dinner  was  far  advanced,  their 
cheeks  were  red,  and  their  eyes  were  sparkling. 

"  What  is  it  all  about  ?"  Mr.  Carlyle  murmured  across 
the  table  to  Tennyson. 

"  Don't  know  "  replied  the  Maker.  "  Didn't  think  he 
had  it  in  him." 

Could  these  two  great  men  be  jealous  of  Mr.  Ruskin's 
fame  ? 

"  Your  remarks,  Mr.  Ruskin,"  said  the  host,  "  sound 
very  pretty.  But  I  should  like  to  have  them  before  me 
in  black  and  white,  so  I  could  tackle  them  quietly  for  an 
hour.  Then  I'd  tell  you  what  I  think.  I  was  reading, 
last  week,  all  your  works." 

"  All  my  works  in  a  week  !"  cried  Ruskin.  "  Sir,  my 
works  require  loving  thought  and  lingering  tender  care. 
You  must  get  up  early  in  the  mornmg  with  them,  you  must 
watch  the  drapery  of  the  clouds  at  sunrise  when  you  read 
them,  you  must  take  them  into  the  fields  at  spring-time 
and  mark,  as  you  meditate  on  the  words  of  the  printed 
page,  the  young  leaflets  breathing  low  in  the  sunshine. 
Then,  as  the  thoughts  grow  and  glow  in  the  pure  ether  of 
your  mind — hock,  if  you  pl§a?e— you  will  ri?e  above  the 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  3I3 

things  of  the  earth,  your  wings  will  expand,  you  will  care 
for  nothing  of  the  mean  and  practical — I  will  take  a  little 
more  duckling — your  faculties  will  be  woven  into  a  cun- 
ning subordination  with  the  wondrous  works  of  Nature, 
and  all  will  be  beautiful  alike,  from  a  blade  of  grass  to  a 
South  American  forest." 

"  There  are  very  good  forests  in  the  Sierra  Nevada," 
said  Mr.  Beck,  who  had  just  understood  the  last  words; 
"  we  needn't  go  to  South  America  for  forests,  I  guess." 

"  That,  Mr.  Beck,  is  what  you  will  get  from  a  study  of 
my  works.     But  a  week — a  week,  Mr.  Beck  !" 

He  shook  his  head  with  a  whole  library  of  reproach. 

"  My  time  was  limited,  Mr.  Ruskin,  and  I  hope  to  go 
through  your  books  with  more  study,  now  I  have  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  you.  What  I  was  going  to  say  was, 
that  I  am  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  talk  with  you  gentlemen 
on  the  subjects  you  like  best,  because  things  have  got 
mixed,  and  I  find  I  can't  rightly  remember  who  wrote 
what." 

"  Thank  goodness  !"  murmured  Mr.  Tennyson,  under 
his  breath. 

Presently  the  diners  began  to  thaw,  and  something  like 
general  conversation  set  in. 

About  the  grated  Parmesan  period,  Mr.  Beck  observed 
with  satisfaction  that  they  were  all  talking  together.  The 
Twins  were  the  loudest.  With  flushed  faces  and  bright 
eyes  they  were  laying  down  the  law  to  their  neighbours  in 
Poetry  and  Art.  Cornelius  gave  Mr.  Tennyson  some  home 
truths  on  his  later  style,  which  the  Poet  Laureate  received 
without  so  much  as  an  attempt  to  defend  himself.  Hum- 
phrey, from  the  depth  of  his  Roman  experiences,  treated 
Mr.  Ruskin  to  a  brief  treatise  on  his  imperfections  as  a 
critic,  and  Mr.  Leighton  to  some  remarks  on  his  paintings, 
which  those  great  men  heard  with  a  polite  stare.  Gilead 
Beck  observed  also  that  Jack  Dunquerque  was  trying  hard 
to  keep  the  talk  in  literary  grooves,  though  with  small 
measure  of  success.     For  as  the  dinner  went  on  the  con- 


314  THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

versation  resolved  itself  into  a  general  discussion  on 
horses,  events,  Aldershot,  Prince's,  polo,  the  drama  from 
its  lightest  point  of  view,  and  such  topics  as  might  per- 
haps be  looked  for  at  a  regimental  mess,  but  hardly  at  a 
dinner  of  Literature.  It  was  strange  that  the  two  great- 
est men  among  them  all,  Carlyle  and  Tennyson,  appeared 
as  interested  as  any  in  this  light  talk. 

The  Twins  were  out  of  it  altogether.  If  there  was  one 
thing  about  which  they  were  absolutely  ignorant,  it  was 
the  Turf.  Probably  they  had  never  seen  a  race  in  their 
lives.  They  talked  fast  and  a  little  at  random,  but  chiefly 
to  each  other,  because  no  one,  Mr,  Beck  observed,  took 
any  notice  of  what  they  said,  Also,  they  drank  continu- 
ously, and  their  host  remarked  that  to  the  flushed  cheeks 
and  the  bright  eyes  was  rapidly  being  added  thickness  of 
speech. 

Mr.  Beck  rose  solemnly,  at  the  right  moment,  and 
asked  his  guests  to  allow  him  two  or  three  toasts  only. 
The  first,  he  said,  was  England  and  America.  He,  he 
said  briefly,  had  not  yet  been  found  in  the  old  country, 
and  so  far  she  was  behind  America.  But  she  did  her 
best;  she  bought  what  she  could  not  dig. 

By  special  request  of  the  host  Mademoiselle  Clari- 
belle  sang  **  Old  John  Brown  lies  a-mouldering  in  his 
grave.'' 

The  next  toast,  Mr.  Beck  said,  was  one  due  to  the  pecu- 
liar position  of  himself.  He  would  not  waste  their  time 
in  telling  his  own  story,  but  he  would  only  say  that  until 
the  Golden  Butterfly  brought  him  to  Limerick  City  and 
showed  him  He,  he  was  but  a  poor  galoot.  Therefore,  he 
asked  them  to  join  him  in  a  sentiment.  He  would  give 
them,  "  More  He." 

Signer  Altotenoro,  an  Englishman  who  had  adopted  an 
Italian  name,  sang  "  The  Light  of  other  Days." 

Then  Mr.  Beck  rose  for  the  third  time  and  begged  the 
indulgence  of  his  friends.  He  spoke  slowly  and  with  a 
certain  sadness. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  315 

**  I  am  not,"  he  said,  "  going  to  orate.  You  did  not 
come  here,  I  guess,  to  hear  me  pay  out  chin  music.  Not 
at  all.  You  came  to  do  honour  to  an  American.  Gentle- 
men, I  am  an  obscure  American  ;  I  am  half  educated  ;  I 
am  a  man  lifted  out  of  the  ranks.  In  our  country — and 
I  think  in  yours  as  well,  though  some  of  you  have  got 
handles  to  your  names — that  is  not  a  thing  to  apologise 
for.  No,  gentlemen,  I  only  mention  it  because  it  does 
me  the  greater  honour  to  have  received  you.  But  I  can 
read  and  I  can  think.  I  see  here  to-night  some  of 
the  most  honoured  names  in  England  and  I  can  tell  you 
all  what  I  was  goin'  to  say  before  dinner,  only  the  misbe- 
gotten cuss  of  a  waiter  took  the  words  out  of  my 
mouth  :  that  I  feel  this  kindness  greatly,  and  I  shall 
never  forget  it,  I  did  think,  gentlemen,  that  you 
would  have  been  too  many  for  me  in  the  matter  of  tall 
talk,  but  exceptin'  Mr.  Ruskin,  to  whom  I  am  grateful 
for  his  beautiful  language,  though  it  didn't  all  get  in,  not 
one  of  you  has  made  me  feel  my  own  uneducated  ignor- 
ance. That  is  kind  of  you,  and  I  thank  you  for  it.  It 
was  true  feeling,  Mr.  Carlyle,  which  prompted  you,  sir,  to 
give  the  conversation  such  a  turn  that  I  might  join  in 
without  bein*  ashamed  or  makin  myself  feel  or'nary.  Gen- 
tlemen, what  a  man  like  me  has  to  guard  against  is  shod- 
dy. If  I  talk  Literature,  it's  shoddy.  If  I  talk  Art,  it's 
shoddy.  Because  I  know  neither  Literature  nor  Art.  If 
I  pretend  to  be  what  I  am  not,  it's  shoddy.  Therefore, 
gentlemen.  I  thank  you  for  leavin'  the  tall  talk  at  home, 
and  tellin'  me  about  your  races  and  your  amusements. 
And  I'll  not  ask  you,  either,  to  make  any  speeches;  but  if 
you'll  allow  me,  I  will  drink  your  healths.  Mr.  Carlyle, 
sir,  the  English-speaking  race  is  proud  of  you.  Mr.  Ten- 
nyson, our  gells,  I'm  told,  love  your  poems  more  than  any 
others  in  this  wide  world.  What  an  American  gell  loves 
is  generally  worth  lovin',  because  she's  no  fool.  Mr. 
Ruskin,  if  you'd  come  across  the  water  you  might  learn  a 
wrinkle  yet  in  the  matter  v{   plain  speech.     Mr.  Sala,  we 


3l6  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

know  you  already  over  thar,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  tell  the 
Reverend  Colonel  Quagg  of  your  welfare  when  I  see  him. 
Mr.  Swinburne,  you  air  young,  but  you  air  getting  on. 
Professor  Huxley  and  Mr,  Darwin,  I  shall  read  your  ser- 
mons and  your  novels,  and  I  shall  be  proud  to  have  seen 
you  at  my  table.  Mr.  Cornelius  and  Mr.  Humphrey  Jag- 
enal,  I  would  drink  your  healths,  too,  if  you  were  not 
sound  asleep.  This  was  unfortunately  the  case;  the 
Twins,  having  succumbed  to  the  mixture  and  quantity  of 
the  drinks  almost  before  the  wine  went  round  once,  were 
now  leaning  back  in  their  chairs,  slumbering  with  the 
sweetest  of  smiles.  "  Captain  Ladds,  you  know,  sir,  that 
you  are  always  welcome.  Mr.  Dunquerque,  you  have  done 
me  another  favour.     Gentlemen  all,  I  drink  your  health." 

"  Jack,"  whispered  Mr.  Swinburne,  "  I  call  this  a  burn- 
ing shame.  He's  a  rattling  good  fellow,  this,  and  you 
must  tell  him." 

"  I  will,  some  time ;  not  now,"  said  Jack,  looking  re- 
morseful. "  I  haven't  the  heart.  I  thought  he  would 
have  found  us  out  long  ago.  I  wonder  how  he'll  take 
it." 

They  had  coffee  and  cigars,  and  presently  Gilead  Beck 
began  telling  about  American  trotting  matches,  which  was 
interesting  to  everybody. 

It  was  nearly  twelve  when  Mr.  Beck's  guests  de- 
parted. 

Mr.  Carlyle,  in  right  of  his  seniority,  solemnly  "  up  and 
spake." 

"  Mr.  Beck,"  he  said,  "  you  are  a  trump.  Come  down 
to  the  Derby  with  me,  and  we  will  show  you  a  race  worth 
twenty  of  your  trotting.  Good  night,  sir,  you've  treated 
us  like  a  prince." 

He  grasped  his  hand  with  a  grip  which  had  all  its 
youthful  vigour,  and  strode  out  of  the  room  with  the  step 
of  early  manhood. 

"  A  wonderful  man  !  said  Mr.  Beck.  "  Who  would 
have  thought  it  ?" 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  317 

The  rest  shook  hands  in  silence,  except  Mr.  Ruskin. 

"I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Beck,''  he  said  meekly,  "that  the 
nonsense  I  talked  at  dinner  annoyed  you.  It's  always  the 
way  if  a  fellow  tries  to  be  clever;  he  overdoes  it,  and 
makes  himself  an  ass.  Good-night,  sir,  and  I  hope  we 
shall  meet  on  the  racecourse  next  Wednesday." 

Mr.  Beck  was  left  alone  with  Jack  Dunquerque,  the 
waiter,  and  the  Twins  still  sleeping. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  with  these  gentlemen,  sir  ?"  asked 
the  waiter. 

Mr.  Beck  looked  at  them  with  a  little  disdain. 

"  Get  John,  and  yank  them  both  to  bed,  and  leave  a 
brandy-and-soda  at  their  elbows  in  case  they're  thirsty  in 
the  night.  Mr.  Dunquerque  and  Captain  Ladds,  don't  go 
yet.     Let  us  have  a  cigar  together  in  the  little  room." 

They  sat  in  silence  for  a  while.  Then  Jack  said,  with 
a  good  deal  of  hesitation  : 

"  I've  got  something  to  tell  you.  Beck." 

"  Then  don't  tell  it  to-night,"  replied  the  American. 
"  I'm  thinking  over  the  evening,  and  I  can't  get  out  of  my 
mind  that  I  might  have  made  a  better  speech.  Seems  as 
if  I  wasn't  nigh  grateful  enough.  Wal,  it's  done.  Mr. 
Dunquerque,  there  is  one  thing  which  pleases  me.  Great 
authors  are  like  the  rest  of  us.  They  are  powerful  fond 
of  racing;  they  shoot,  they  ride,  and  they  hunt;  they 
know  how  to  tackle  a  dinner;  and  all  of  'em,  from  Car- 
lyle  to  young  Mr.  Swinburne,  seem  to  love  the  gells  alike. 
That's  a  healthly  sign,  sir.  It  shows  that  their  hearts  air 
m  the  right  place.  The  world's  bound  to  go  on  well, 
somehow,  so  long  as  its  leaders  like  to  talk  of  a  pretty 
woman's  eyes;  because  it's  human.  And  then  for  me  to 
hear  these  great  men  actually  doing  it !  Why,  Captain 
Ladds,  it  adds  six  inches  to  my  stature  to  feel  sure  that 
they  like  what  I  like,  and  that,  after  all  said  and  done, 
Alfred  Tennyson  and  Gilead  P.  Beck  are  men  and 
brothers." 


3l8  THE   GOLDEN  BUTTERFLY. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

"  Greater  humanity." 

THE  world,  largely  as  it  had  unfolded  itself  to  Phillis, 
consisted  as  yet  to  her  wholly  of  the  easy  classes. 
That  there  were  poor  people  in  the  country  was  a  matter 
of  hearsay.  That  is,  she  had  caught  a  glimpse  during  a 
certain  walk  with  Caesar  of  a  class  whose  ways  were  clearly 
not  her  ways,  nor  their  manner  of  thought  hers.  She  had 
now  to  learn — as  a  step  to  that  wider  sympathy  first 
awakened  by  the  butter-woman's  baby — that  there  is  a 
kind  of  folk  who  are  more  dangerous  than  picturesque,  to 
be  pitied  rather  than  to  be  painted,  to  be  schooled  and 
disciplined  rather  than  to  be  looked  at. 

She  learned  this  lesson  through  Mrs.  L'Estrange,  whose 
laudable  custom  it  was  to  pay  periodical  visits  to  a  certain 
row  of  cottages.  They  were  not  nice  cottages,  but  nasty. 
They  faced  an  unrelenting  ditch,  noisome,  green,  and 
putrid.  They  were  slatternly  and  out  at  elbows.  The 
people  who  lived  in  them  were  unpleasant  to  look  at  or  to 
think  of;  the  men  belonged  to  the  riverside — they  were 
boat-cads  and  touts;  and  if  there  is  any  one  pursuit  more 
demoralising  than  another,  it  is  that  of  launching  boats 
into  the  river,  handing  the  oars,  and  helping  out  the  crew. 

In  the  daytime  the  cottages  were  in  the  hands  of  the 
wives.  Towards  nightfall  the  men  returned  :  those  who 
had  money  enough  were  drunk;  those  who  were  sober 
envied  those  who  were  drunk.  Both  drunk  and  sober 
found  scolding  wives,  squalid  homes,  and  crying  children. 
Both  drunk  and  sober  lay  down  with  curses,  and  slept  till 
t^e  morning,  when  they  awoke,  and  went  forth  again  with 
the  jocund  curse  of  dawn. 

Nothing  so  beautiful  as  the   civilisation  of  the  period. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  319 

Half  a  mile  from  Agatha  L'Estrange  and  Phillis  Fleming 
were  these  cottages.  Almost  within  earshot  of  a  house 
where  vice  was  unknown,  or  only  dimly  seen  like  a  ghost 
at  twilight,  stood  the  hovels  where  virtue  was  impossible, 
and  goodness  a  dream  of  an  unknown  land.  What  notion 
do  they  have  of  the  gentle  life,  these  dwellers  in  misery 
and  squalor  ?  What  fond  ideas  of  wealth's  power  to  pro- 
cure unlimited  gratification  for  the  throat  do  they  con- 
ceive, these  men  and  women  whose  only  pleasure  is  to 
drink  beer  till  they  drop  ? 

One  day  Phillis  went  there  with  Agatha. 

It  was  such  a  bright  warm  morning,  the  river  was  so 
sparkling,  the  skies  were  so  blue,  the  gardens  were  so 
sunny,  the  song  of  the  birds  so  loud,  the  laburnums  so 
golden,  and  the  lilacs  so  glorious  to  behold,  that  the  girl's 
heart  was  full  of  all  the  sweet  thoughts  which  slie  had 
learned  of  others  or  framed  for  herself — thoughts  of  poets, 
which  echoed  in  her  brain  and  flowed  down  the  current 
of  her  thoughts  like  the  swans  upon  the  river;  happy 
thoughts  of  youth  and  innocence. 

She  walked  beside  her  companion  with  light  and  elastic 
tread;  she  looked  about  her  with  the  fresh  unconscious 
grace  that  belongs  to  childhood ;  it  was  her  greatest  charm. 
But  the  contentment  of  her  soul  was  rudely  shaken — 
the  beauty  went  out  of  the  day — when  Mrs.  L'Estrange 
only  led  her  away  from  the  leafy  road  and  took  her  into 
her  "  Row."  There  the  long  arms  of  the  green  trees 
were  changed  into  protruding  sticks,  on  which  linen  was 
hanging  out  to  dry  ;  the  songs  of  the  birds  became  the 
cry  of  children  and  the  scolding  of  women  ;  for  flowers 
there  was  the  iridiscence  on  the  puddles  of  soap-suds  ; 
for  greenhouse  were  dirty  windows  and  open  doors  which 
looked  into  squalid  interiors. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  old  Mr.  Medlicott,"  said  Mrs. 
L'Estrange  cheerfully,  picking  her  accustomed  way  among 
the  cabbage-stalks,  wash-tubs,  and  other  evidences  of 
human  habitation. 


320  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

The  women  looked  out  of  their  houses  and  retired  has- 
tily. Presently  they  came  out  again,  and  stood  every  one 
at  her  door  with  a  clean  apron  on,  each  prepared  to  lie 
like  an  ambassador  for  the  good  of  the  family. 

In  a  great  chair  by  a  fire  there  sat  an  old  woman — a 
malignant  old  woman.  She  looked  up  and  scowled  at 
the  ladies;  then  she  looked  at  the  fire  and  scowled  ;  then 
she  pointed  to  the  corner  and  scowled  again. 

'*  Look  at  him,"  she  growled  in  a  hoarse  crescendo. 
"  Look  at  him,  lying  like  a  pig — like  a  pig.  Do  you 
hear '" 

"  I  hear." 

The  voice  came  from  what  Phillis  took  at  first  to  be  a 
heap  of  rags.  She  was  right,  because  she  could  not  see 
beneath  the  rags  the  supine  form  of  a  man. 

Mrs,  L'Estrange  took  no  notice  of  the  old  woman's  in- 
troduction to  the  human  pig.  That  phenomenon  repeat- 
ed his  answer : 

"  I  hear.  I'm  her  beloved  grandson,  ladies.  I'm  Jack- 
in-the- Water." 

"  Get  up  and  work.  Go  down  to  your  river.  Comes 
home  and  lies  down,  he  does — yah  !  ye  lazy  pig  ;  says  he's 
goin'  to  have  the  horrors,  he  does — yah  !  ye  drunken  pig; 
prigs  my  money  for  drink — yah  !  ye  thievin'  pig.  Get  up 
and  go  out  of  the  place.  Leave  me  and  the  ladies  to  talk. 
Go,  I  say  !  ' 

Jack-in-the-Water  arose  slowly.  He  was  a  long-legged 
creature  with  shaky  limbs,  and  when  he  stood  upright  his 
head  nearly  touched  the  rafters  of  the  low  unceiled  room. 
And  he  had  a  face  at  sight  of  which  Phillis  shuddered — 
an  animal  face  with  no  forehead;  a  cruel,  bad,  selfish  face, 
all  jowl  and  no  front.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot  and  his 
lips  were  thick.  He  twitched  and  trembled  all  over — his 
l(^s  trembled  ;  his  hands  trembled  ;   his  cheeks  twitched. 

"  'Orrors  !  "  he  said  in  a  husky  voice.  "  And  should  ha' 
had  the  'errors  if  I  hadn't  a  took  the  money.  Two-and- 
tuppence." 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  321 

He  pushed  past  Phillis,  who  shrank  in  alarm,  and  dis- 
appeared. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Medlicott,  and  how  are  we  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
L'Estrange  in  a  cheerful  voice — she  took  no  manner  of 
notice  of  the  man. 

"  Worse.  What  have  you  got  for  me  ?  Money  ?  I 
want  money.  Flannel  ?  I  want  flannel.  Physic  ?  I 
want  physic.  Brandy  ?  I  want  brandy  very  bad  ;  I 
never  wanted  it  so  bad.  What  have  you  got  ?  Gimme 
brandy  and  you  shall  read  me  a  tract." 

"  You  forget,"  said  Agatha,  "  that  I  never  read  to 
you." 

"  Let  the  young  lady  read,  then.  Come  here,  missy. 
Lord,  Lord !  Don'tee  be  afraid  of  an  old  woman 
as  has  got  no  teeth.  Come  now.  Gimme  your 
hand.  Ay,  ay,  ay  !  Eh,  eh,  eh  !  Here's  a  pretty  little 
hand." 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Medlicott,  you  said  you  would  not  do  that 
any  more.      You  know  it  is  all  foolish  wickedness. 

"  Foolish  wickedness,"  echoed  the  Witch  of  Endor. 
"  Never  after  to-day,  my  lady.  Come,  my  pretty  lass, 
take  off  the  glove  and  gimme  the  hand." 

Without  knowing  what  she  did,  Phillis  drew  off  the 
glove  from  her  left  hand.  The  old  woman  leaned  for- 
ward in  her  chair  and  looked  at  the  lines.  She  was  a 
fierce  and  eager  old  woman.  Life  was  strong  in  her  yet, 
despite  her  fourscore  years  ;  her  eyes  were  bright  and 
fiery  ;  her  toothless  gums  chattered  without  speaking  ;  her 
long  lean  fingers  shook  as  they  seized  on  the  girl's  dainty 
palm. 

"  Ay,  ah  '  Eh,  eh  !  The  line  of  life  is  long.  A  silent 
childhood  !  a  love-knot  hindered;  go,  on,  girl — go  on, 
wife  and  mother;  happy  life  and  happy  age,  but  far  away 
— not  here — far  away;  a  lucky  lot  with  him  you  love;  to 
sleep  by  his  side  for  fifty  years  and  more;  to  see  your 
children  and  your  grandchildren;  to  watch  the  sun  rise 
and  set  from  your  door — a  happy  life,  but  far  away." 


322  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

She  dropped  the  girl's  hand  as  quickly  as  she  had  seized 
it,  and  fell  back  in  her  chair  mumbling  and  moaning. 

"  Gimme  brandy,  Mrs.  L'Estrange — you  are  a  charita- 
ble woman — gimme  brandy.  And  port -wine  ! — ah  !  lemme 
have  some  port-wine.  Tea  ?  Don't  forget  the  tea.  And 
Jack-in-the-Water  drinks  awful,  he  does.  Worse  than  his 
father;  worse  than  his  grandfather — and  they  all  went  off 
at  five-and-thirty." 

"  I  will  send  you  up  a  basket,  Mrs.  Medlicott.  Come, 
Phillis,  I  have  got  to  go  to  the  next  cottage." 

But  Phillis  stayed  behind  a  momcHt. 

She  touched  the  old  woman  on  the  forehead  with  her 
fingers  and  said  softly — 

"  Tell  me,  are  you  happy  ?     Do  you  suffer  ?" 

•*  Happy  ?  only  the  rich  are  happy.  Suffer  ?  of  course 
I  suffer.     All  the  pore  suffers." 

"  Poor  thing  !  May  I  come  and  see  you  and  bring  you 
things  ?" 

"  Of  course  you  may." 

"  And  you  will  tell  me  about  yourself  ?" 

"  Child,  child  !"  cried  the  old  woman  impatiently.  "Tell 
you  about  myself?  There,  there,  you're  one  of  them  the 
Lord  loves — wife  and  mother;  happy  life  and  happy 
death  ;  childer  and  grandchilder;  but  faraway,  faraway." 

Mrs.  Medlicott  gave  Phillis  her  first  insight  into  that 
life  so  near  and  yet  so  distant  from  us.  She  should  have 
been  introduced  to  the  ideal  cottage,  where  the  stalwart 
husband  supports  the  smiling  wife,  and  both  do  honour  to 
the  intellectual  curate  with  the  long  coat  and  the  lofty 
brow.  Where  are  they — lofty  brow  of  priest  and  stalwart 
form  of  virtuous  peasant  ?  Remark  that  Phillis  was  a  child ; 
the  first  effect  of  the  years  upon  a  child  is  to  sadden  it. 
Philemon  and  Baucis  in  their  cot  would  have  rejoiced 
her;  that  of  old  Mrs.  Medlicott  set  her  thinking. 

And  while  she  drew  from  memory  the  old  fortune-teller 
in  her  cottage,  certain  words  of  Abraham  Dyson's  came 
back  to  her : 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  323 

"  Life  is  a  joy  to  one  and  a  burden  to  ninety-nine. 
Remember  in  your  joy  as  many  as  you  can  of  the  ninety- 
nine. 

"  Learn  that  you  cannot  be  entirely  happy,  because  of 
the  ninety-nine  who  are  entirely  wretched. 

"  When  you  reach  this  knowledge,  Phillis,  be  sure  that 
the  Coping-stone  is  not  far-off," 


CHAPTER    XXVIIL 

"  Non  possidentem  multa  vocaveria 
Eecte  beatum." 

THE  manner  in  which  Mr.  Cassilis  conveyed  his  ad- 
vice, or  rather  instructions,  to  Gilead  Beck  inspired 
the  American  with  a  blind  confidence.  He  spoke  slowly, 
grimly,  and  with  deliberation.  He  spoke  as  one  who 
knew.  Most  men  speak  as  those  who  only  half  know,  like 
the  Frenchman  who  said,  "  Ce  que  je  sais,  je  le  sais  mal; 
ce  que  j'ignore,  je  I'ignoreparfaitement." 

Mr.  Cassilis  weighed  each  word.  While  he  spoke  his 
eyes  sought  those  of  his  friend,  and  looked  straight  in 
them,  not  defiantly,  but  meditatively.  He  brought  Mr. 
Beck  bills,  which  he  made  him  accept;  and  he  brought 
prospectuses,  in  which  the  American,  finding  they  were 
English  schemes,  invested  money  at  his  adviser's  sugges- 
tion. 

"  You  have  now,"  said  Mr.  Cassilis,  "  a  very  large  sum 
invested  in  different  companies;  you  must  consider  now 
how  long  to  hold  the  shares — when  to  sell  out  in  fact." 

"  Can't  I  sell  my  shares  at  once,  if  I  please  ?" 

"  You  certainly  can,  and  so  ruin  the  companies.  Con- 
sider my  undertaking  to  my  friends  on  the  allotment  com- 
mittees." 

"Yes,  sir." 


324  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  You  forget,  Mr.  Beck,  that  you  are  a  wealthy  man. 
We  do  not  manage  matters  in  a  hole  and  corner.  The 
bears  have  sold  on  expectation  of  an  allotment.  Now  as 
they  have  not  got  an  allotment,  and  we  have,  they  must 
buy.  When  such  men  as  you  buy  largely,  the  effect  is  to 
run  shares  up  ;  when  you  sell  largely,  you  run  them 
down." 

Mr.  Cassilis  did  not  explain  that  he  had  himself  greatly 
profited  by  this  tidal  influence,  and  proposed  to  profit  still 
more. 

"  Many  companies,  perfectly  sound  in  principle,  may  be 
ruined  by  a  sudden  decrease  in  the  price  of  shares;  a 
panic  sets  in,  and  in  a  few  hours  the  shareholders  may 
lose  all.  And  if  you  bring  this  about  by  selling  without 
concert  with  the  other  favoured  allottees,  you'll  be  called 
a  black  sheep." 

Mr.  Beck  hesitated.     "  It's  a  hard  thing  " he  began. 

His  adviser  went  on  : 

"  You  have  thus  two  things  to  think  of — not  to  lose 
your  own  profit,  and  not  to  spread  disaster  over  a  number 
of  other  people  by  the  very  magnitude  of  your  transac- 
tions." 

This  was  a  new  light  to  Gilead. 

"  Then  why  sell  at  all  ?  Why  not  keep  the  shares 
and  secure  the  dividend  ?  It's  a  hard  hank,  all  this 
money." 

And  this  was  a  new  light  for  the  financier. 

Hold  the  shares  ?  When  they  were,  scores  of  them,  at 
16  premium  ?  "  You  can  certainly  do  that,  if  you  please," 
he  said  slowly.  "  That,  however,  puts  you  in  the  simple 
position  of  investor." 

"  I  thought  I  was  that,  Mr.  Cassilis  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,  Mr.  Beck.  The  wise  man  distrusts  all 
companies,  but  puts  his  hope  in  a  rise  or  fall.  You  are 
not  conversant  with  the  way  business  is  done.  A  com- 
pany is  formed — the  A  B  C  let  us  say.  Before  any  allot- 
ment of  shares  is  made,  influential  brokers,  acting  in  the 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  325 

interest  of  the  promoters,  go  on  to  the  Stock  Exchange, 
and  make  a  market. 

"  How  is  that,  sir  ?" 

"  They  purchase  as  many  shares  as  they  can  get.  Per- 
sons technically  called  '  bears  '  in  London  or  in  New  York 
sell  these  shares  on  the  chance  of  allotment." 

"Well?" 

"To  their  astonishment  they  don't  get  any  shares  allot- 
ted. Millions  of  money  in  a  year  are  allotted  to  clerks, 
Mr.  Beck — to  anybody,  in  fact — a  market  is  established, 
and  our  shares  figure  at  a  pretty  premium.  Then  begins 
the  game  of  backing  and  filling — to  and  fro,  backward 
and  forward — and  all  this  time  we  are  gradually  unload- 
ing the  shares  on  the  public,  the  real  holders  of  every 
thing." 

'■'  I  begin  to  see,"  said  Mr.  Beck  slowly. 

*'  By  this  time  you  will  perceive,''  Mr.  Cassilis  con- 
tinued, "the  bears  are  at  the  mercy  of  the  favoured  allot- 
tees. Then  up  go  the  shares;  the  public  have  come  in. 
I  recollect  an  old  friend  of  mine  who  made  a  fortune  on 
'Change — small  compared  with  yours,  Mr.  Beck,  but  a 
great  fortune — used  to  say,  talking  of  shares  in  his  rather 
homely  style,  'When  they  rise,  the  people  buys;  when 
they  fa's,  they  lets  'em  goes.'  Ha,  ha  !  it  s  so  true.  I  have 
but  a  very  poor  opinion  of  the  Isle  of  Holyhead  Inland 
Navigation  Company;  but  I  thought  their  shares  would 
go  up,  and  I  bought  for  you.  You  hold  twenty  out  of 
fifty  thousand.  Wait  till  'the  people  buys/  and  then  un- 
load cautiously. 

"  And  leave  the  rest  in  the  lurch  ?  No,  sir,  I  can't  do 
that." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Beck,  I  can  advise  you  no  more.  ' 

"I  hold  twenty  thousand  shares;  and  if  I  sell  out,  that 
company  will  bust  up." 

"  I  do  not  say  so  much.  I  say  that  if  you  sell  out 
gradually  you  take  advantage  of  the  premium,  and  the 
company     is    left    exactly    where    it    was     before    you 


326  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

joined,  to  stand  or  fall  upon  its  merits.  But  if  you  will 
sell  your  shares  without  concert  with  our  colleagues  in 
these  companies  you  are  in,  we  shall  be  very  properly 
called  black  sheep." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Cassilis,"  said  Gilead,  "  in  God's  name,  let 
us  have  done  with  companies. 

"Very  well; as  you  please.  You  have  only  to  give  me 
a  power  of  attorney,  and  I  will  dispose  of  all  your  shares 
in  the  best  way  possible  for  your  interests.  Will  you  give 
me  that  power  of  attorney  ?" 

"  Sir,  I  am  deeply  obliged  to  you  for  all  the  trouble  you 
are  taking." 

"A  power  of  attorney  conveys  large  powers.  It  will 
put  into  my  hands  the  management  of  your  great  reve- 
nues. This  is  not  a  thing  to  be  done  in  a  moment.  Think 
well,  Mr.  Beck,  before  you  sign  such  a  document." 

"  I  have  thought,  sir,"  said  Gilead,  "  and  I  will  sign  it 
with  gratitude." 

"  In  that  case,  I  will  have  the  document — it  is  only  a 
printed  form,  filled  up  and  sent  on  to  you  for  signature 
immediately." 

*'  Thank  you,  Mr.  Cassilis." 

"And  as  for  the  shares  in  the  various  companies  which 
you  have  acquired  by  my  advice,  I  will,  if  you  please,  take 
them  all  over  one  with  another  at  the  price  you  gave  for 
them,  without  considering  which  have  gone  up  and  which 
down." 

They  had  all  gone  up,  a  fact  which  Mr.  Cassilis  might 
have  remembered  had  he  given  the  thing  a  moment's 
thought.  The  companies  on  paper  were  doing  extremely 
well. 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Beck,  starting  to  his  feet  "  you  heap 
coals  of  fire  on  my  head.  When  a  gentleman  like  you 
advises  me,  I  ought  to  be  thankful,  and  not  go  worrying 
around  like  a  hen  in  a  farmyard.  The  English  nation  air 
the  only  people  who  can  raise  a  man  like  you,  sir.  Honour 
s  your  birthright.     Duty  is  your  instinct.     Truth  is  your 


THE   GOLDEX^r  ^yXTERFLY.  327 

nature.  We,  Americans,  sir,  come  next  to  you  En^Msh  in 
that  respect.  The  rest  of  the  world  are  nowhere."  He 
was  walking  backwards  and  forwards,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  while  Mr.  Cassilis  looked  at  him  through  his 
gold  eyeglasses  as  if  he  was  a  little  amused  at  the  out- 
burst. "  Nowhere,  sir.  Truth  lives  only  among  us.  The 
French  lie  to  please  you.  The  Germans  lie  to  get  some- 
thing for  themselves.  The  Russians  lie  because  they  im- 
itate the  French  and  have  caught  the  bad  tricks  of  the 
Germans.  Sir,  no  one  but  an  Englishman  would  have 
made  me  the  generous  offer  you  have  just  made,  and  I 
respect  you  for  it,  Mr,  Cassilis,  I  respect  you,  sir." 

Gabriel  Cassilis  looked  a  little,  a  very  little,  confused  at 
all  these  compliments.     Then  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"  My  dear  friend,  the  respect  is  mutual,"  he  said,  with 
a  forced  smile.  "  Do  not,  however,  act  always  upon  your 
belief  in  the  honesty  of  Englishmen.  It  may  lead  you 
into  mischief." 

"As  for  the  shares,"  said  Beck,  "they  will  stay  as  they 
are,  if  you  please,  or  they  will  be  sold,  as  you  will.  And 
no  more  companies,  Mr.  Cassilis,  for  me." 

"  You  shall  have  no  more,"  said  his  adviser. 

In  his  pocket  was  a  beautiful  prospectus,  brand  new, 
of  a  company  about  to  be  formed  for  the  purpose  of  light- 
ing the  town  of  La  Concepcion  Immaculata  on  the  Ama- 
zon River  in  Brazil  with  gas.  A  concession  of  land  had 
been  obtained,  engineers  had  been  out  to  survey  the  place, 
and  their  prospects  were  most  bright. 

Now,  he  felt,  that  project  must  be  released.  He  turned 
the  paper  in  his  fingers  nervously  round  and  round,  and 
the  muscles  of  his  cheek  twitched.  Then  he  looked  up 
and  smiled,  but  in  a  joyless  way.  Mr.  Beck  did  not  ?5mile. 
He  was  growing  more  serious. 

"  You  shall  have  no  more  shares,"  said  the  adviser. 
Those  that  you  have  already  shall  be  disposed  of  as  soon 
as  possible.  Remains  the  question,  what  am  I  to  do  with 
the  money  ?" 


328  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"You  have  placed  yourself,"  he  went  on,  "in  my  hands 
by  means  of  that  promised  power  of  attorney.  I  advised, 
first  of  all,  certain  shares  my  influence  enabled  me  to  get 
allotted  to  you.  You  have  scruples  about  selling  shares 
at  a  profit.  Let  us  respect  your  scruples,  Mr.  Beck.  In- 
stead of  shares,  you  will  invest  your  money  in  Govern- 
ment stocks." 

"  That,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Beck,  "  would  meet  my  wishes." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it.  There  are  two  or  three  ways  of  in- 
vesting money  in  stocks.  The  first,  your  way,  is  to  buy  in 
and  take  the  interest.  The  next,  my  way,  is  to  buy  in 
when  they  are  low  and  sell  out  when  they  go  up." 

"  You  may  buy  in  low  and  sell  out  lower,"  said  the 
astute  Beck. 

"  Not  if  you  can  afford  to  wait.  This  game,  Mr.  Beck, 
as  played  by  the  few  who  understand  it,  is  one  which  calls 
into  play  all  the  really  valuable  qualities  of  the  human  in- 
tellect." 

Mr.  Cassilis  rose  as  he  spoke  and  drew  himself  up  to  his 
full  height.  Then  he  began  to  walk  backwards  and  for- 
wards, turning  occasionally  to  jerk  a  word  straight  in  the 
face  of  his  client,  who  was  now  leaning  against  the  win- 
dow with  an  unlighted  cigar  between  his  lips,  listening 
gravely. 

"  Foolish  people  think  it  a  game  of  gambling.  So  it  is 
— for  them.  What  is  it  to  us  ?  It  is  the  forecasting  of 
events.  It  is  the  pitting  of  our  experience,  our  sagacity, 
against  what  some  outsiders  call  chance  and  some  Provi- 
dence. We  anticipate  events;  we  read  the  future  by  the 
light  of  the  present." 

"  Then  it  isn't  true  about  Malachi,"  said  Mr.  Beck. 
"  And  he  wasn't  the  last  prophet." 

Mr.  Cassilis  went  on  without  regarding  this  observa- 
tion : 

"  There  is  no  game  in  the  world  so  well  worth  playing. 
Politics  ?  You  stake  your  reputation  on  the  breath  of  the 
mob.     War  ?    You  throw  away  your  life  at  the  stockade 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  329 

of  savages  before  you  can  learn  it.  Trade  ?  It  is  the 
lower  branch  of  the  game  of  speculation.  In  this  game 
those  who  have  cool  heads  and  iron  nerve  win.  To  lose 
your  head  for  a  moment  is  to  lose  the  results  of  a  lifetime 
— unless,"  he  murmured,  as  if  to  himself — "  unless  you  can 
wait." 

**  Well,  sir,"  said  Gi)ead,  "  I  am  a  scholar,  and  I  learn 
something  new  every  day.  Do  you  wish  me  to  learn  this 
game  ?     It  seems  to  me  " 

"You  ?"  Contempt  that  could  not  be  repressed  flashed 
for  a  moment  across  the  thin  features  of  the  speculator. 
"You  ?  No.  Perhaps,  Mr.  Beck,  I  do  not  interest  you." 
He  resumed  his  habitually  cold  manner,  and  went  on  :  "I 
propose,  however,  to  give  you  my  assistance  in  investing 
your  money,  to  such  advantage  as  I  can,  in  English  and 
foreign  stocks,  including  railway  companies,  but  not  in  the 
shares  of  newly-formed  trading  companies." 

"  Sir,  that  is  very  kind." 

"  You  trust  me,  then,  Mr.  Beck  ?" 

Again  the  joyless  smile,  which  gleamed  for  a  moment 
on  his  lips  and  disappeared. 

"That  is  satisfactory  to  both  of  us,"  he  said.  "And  I 
will  send  up  the  power  of  attorney  to-day." 

Mr.  Cassilis  departed.  By  the  morning's  work  he  had 
acquired  absolute  control  over  a  quarter  of  a  million  of 
money.  Before  this  he  had  influence,  but  he  required 
persuasion  for  each  separate  transaction.  Now  he  had 
this  great  fortune  entirely  in  his  own  control.  It  was  to 
be  the  same  as  his  own.  And  by  its  means  he  had  the 
power  which  every  financier  watits — that  of  waiting.  He 
could  wait.  And  Gilead  Beck,  this  man  of  unparalleled 
sharpness  and  unequalled  experience,  was  a  Fool.  We 
have  been  Christians  for  nearly  two  thousand  years,  and 
yet  he  who  trusts  another  man  is  a  Fool.     It  seems  odd. 

Mr.  Cassilis  felt  young  again.  He  held  his  head  erect 
as  he  walked  down  the  steps  of  the  Langham  Hotel.  He 
lost  his  likeness  to  old  Father  Time,  or  at  least  resembled 


33©  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

that  potentate  in  his  younger  days,  when  he  used  to  ac- 
commodate himself  to  people,  moving  slowly  for  the 
happy,  sometimes  sitting  down  for  a  few  weeks  ni  the  case 
of  young  lovers,  and  galloping  for  the  miserable.  He  strode 
across  the  hall  with  the  gait  of  a  Field- Marshal  Command- 
ing-in-Chief,  and  drove  off  to  the  City  with  the  courage 
of  five-and-twenty  and  the  wisdom  of  sixty. 

Before  him  stretched  an  endless  row  of  successes, 
bigger  than  anything  he  had  ever  yet  tried.  For  him  the 
glory  of  the  coup  and  the  profit;  for  Gilead  Beck  the  in- 
terest on  his  money. 

In  his  inner  room,  after  glancing  at  the  pile  of  letters 
and  telegrams,  noting  instructions,  and  reserving  a  few  for 
private  reply,  he  rang  his  bell. 

The  private  secretary  of  Mr.  Gabriel  Cassilis  did  not 
disdain  personally  to  answer  that  bell.  He  was  a  middle- 
aged  man,  with  a  sleek  appearance,  and  a  face  which, 
being  fat,  shiny,  and  graced  only  with  a  slight  fringe  of 
whisker  lying  well  behind,  somehow  conveyed  the  impres- 
sion of  a  Particular  Baptist  who  was  also  in  the  oil-trade. 
That  was  not  the  case,  because  Mr.  Movvll  was  a  member 
of  the  Church  of  England  and  a  sidesman.  He  lived  at 
Tulse  Hill,  and  was  a  highly-respectable  man.  Mr.  Cas- 
silis gave  him  a  fair  salary,  and  a  small  amount — a  very 
small  amount — of  his  confidence.  He  also,  when  anything 
good  in  a  humble  way  offered,  tossed  the  information  to 
his  secretary,  who  was  thus  enabled  to  add  materially  to 
his  salary. 

In  the  outer  world  Mr.  Mowll  was  the  right-hand  man 
of  Gabriel  Cassilis,  his  factotum,  and  the  man,  according 
to  some,  by  whose  advice  he  walked.  Gabriel  Cassilis 
walked  by  no  man's  advice  save  his  own. 

"  For  you,  Mowll,"  said  his  employer  briefly.  "  These 
I  will  attend  to.  Telegraph  to — wherever  his  address  is — 
to  the  man  Wylie — the  writing  man  " — newspaper  people 
and  writers  of  articles  were  "  writing  men  "  to  Gabriel 
Cassilis — "  I  want  him  at  once." 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  331 

Then  he  absorbed  himself  again  in  his  papers. 

When  he  was  left  alone  he  pulled  some  printed  docu- 
ments out  of  a  drawer,  and  compared  them  with  letters 
which  had  the  New  York  post-mark  upon  them.  He  read 
carefully,  and  made  notes  at  various  points  with  a  stump 
of  a  blue  crayon  pencil.  And  he  was  still  engaged  on  them 
when,  half  an  hour  later,  his  secretary  asked  him  through 
a  tube  whether  he  would  see  Mr.  Wylie. 

Mr.  Wylie  was  an  elderly  man — a  man  of  sixty — and  he 
was  a  man  on  whose  face  many  years  of  rum-and-water 
were  beginning  to  tell.  He  was  a  man  of  letters,  as  he 
said  himself;  he  had  some  kind  of  name,  in  virtue  of  cer- 
tain good  things  he  had  written,  in  his  early  manhood, 
before  the  rum-and-water  period  set  in.  Now  he  went  up 
and  down,  doing  odd  jobs  of  literary  work,  such  as  are 
always  wanting  some  one  to  do  them  in  this  great  city. 
He  was  a  kind  of  literary  cab. 

"  You  are  free  to-day,  Mr.  Wylie  ?" 

"  I  am,  Mr.  CassiHs." 

"  Good.  Do  you  remem?jer  last  year  writing  a  short 
political  pamphlet — I  think  at  my  suggestion — on  the 
prospects  of  Patagonian  bond-holders  ?" 

"You  gave  me  all  the  information, you  know." 

"  That  is,  you  found  the  papers  in  my  outer  office,  to 
which  all  the  world  has  access,  and  on  them  you  based 
your  opinion." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  the  pamphleteer.  "  I  also  found  five- 
and-tvventy  pounds  in  gold  on  your  secretary's  table  the 
day  after  the  pamphlet  appeared." 

"  Ah  !  Possibly — perhaps  my  secretary  had  private 
reasons  of  his  own  for  " 

**  Let  us  talk  business,  Mr.  Cassilis,"  said  the  author  a 
little  roughly.  "  You  want  me  to  do  something.  What 
is  it?" 

"Do  you  know  the  affairs  of  Eldorado  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  of  Eldorado  bonds.  Of  course,  I  have 
no  bonds  either  of  Eldorado  or  any  other  stock." 


332  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY 

"  I  have  here  certain  papers — published  papers — on  the 
resources  of  the  country,"  said  Mr.  CassiHs.  "  I  think  it 
might  pay  a  clever  man  to  read  them.  He  would  proba- 
bly arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  the  Republic,  with  its 
present  income,  cannot  hope  to  pay  its  dividends  " 

"Must  smash  up,  in  short." 

"  Do  not  interrupt.  But  with  any  assurance  of  activity 
and  honesty  in  the  application  of  its  borrowed  money, 
there  seems,  if  this  paper  is  correct — it  is  published  in 
New  York — no  doubt  that  the  internal  resources  would 
be  more  than  sufficient  to  carry  the  State  triumphantly 
through  any  difficulty." 

"  Is  it  a  quick  job,  or  a  job  that  may  wait  ?" 

"  I  dislike  calling  things  jobs,  Mr.  Wylie.  I  give  you  a 
suggestion  which  may  or  may  not  be  useful.  If  it  it  use- 
ful— it  is  now  half-past  twelve  o'clock — the  pamphlet 
should  be  advertised  in  to-morrow's  papers,  in  the  printer's 
hand  by  four,  and  ready  on  every  counter  by  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  Make  your  own  arrangements  with 
printers,  and  call  on  me  to-morrow  with  the  pamphlet. 
On  me,  mind,  not  Mr.  Mowll." 

"  Yes — and — and —  " 

"  And,  perhaps,  if  the  pamphlet  is  clever,  and  expresses 
a  just  view  of  Eldorado  and  its  obligations,  there  may  be 
double  the  sum  that  you  once  found  on  my  secretary's 
table." 

Mr.  Wylie  grasped  the  papers  and  departed. 

The  country  of  Eldorado  is  one  of  the  many  free,  happy, 
virtuous,  and  enlightened  republics  of  Central  America. 
It  was  constituted  in  the  year  1839,  after  the  Confedera- 
tion broke  up.  During  the  thirty  years  which  form  its  his- 
tory, it  has  enjoyed  the  rule  of  fifteen  Presidents.  Don 
Rufiano  Grechyto,  its  present  able  administrator,  a  half- 
blood  Indian  by  birth,  has  sat  upon  the  chair  of  state  for 
nearly  a  year  and  a  half,  and  approaches  the  period  of  two 
years,  beyond  which  no  previous  President  has  reigned. 
He  is  accordingly  ill  at  ease.     Those  who  survive  of  his 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  333 

fourteen  predecessors  await  his  deposition,  and  expect 
him  shortly  in  their  own  happy  circle,  where  they  sit  like 
Richard  II.,  and  talk  of  royal  misfortunes.  Eldorado  is  a 
richly-endowed  country  to  look  at.  It  has  mountains 
where  a  few  inches  of  soil  separate  the  feet  of  the  rare 
wayfarer  from  rich  lodes  of  silver;  forests  of  mahogany 
cover  its  plains;  indigo  and  tobacco  flourish  in  its  valleys; 
everywhere  roam  cattle  waiting  to  be  caught  and  sent  to 
the  London  market.  Palms  and  giant  tree-ferns  rise  in 
its  woods;  creepers  of  surpassing  beauty  hang  from  tree 
to  tree:  in  its  silent  recesses  stand,  covered  with  inscrip- 
tions which  no  man  can  read,  the  ruins  of  a  perished  civil- 
ization. Among  these  ruins  roam  the  half-savage  Indians 
who  form  nine-tenths  of  the  population.  And  in  the  hot 
seaboard  towns  loll  and  lie  the  languid  whites  and  half- 
castes  who  form  the  governing  class.  They  never  do 
govern  at  all;  they  never  improve;  they  never  work;  they 
are  a  worthless  hopeless  race;  they  hoard  their  energies 
for  the  excitement  of  a  pronunciamiento;  their  favourite 
occupation  is  a  game  of  monte;  they  consider  thought  a 
wicked  waste  of  energy,  save  for  purposes  of  cheating. 
They  ought  all,  and  without  exception,  to  be  rubbed  out, 
And  it  is  most  unfortunate,  in  the  interests  of  humanity, 
that  their  only  strong  feeling  is  an  objection  to  be  rubbed 
out.  Otherwise  we  could  plant  in  Eldorado  a  colony  of 
Germans;  kill  the  pythons,  alligators,  jaguars,  and  other 
impediments  to  free  civilisation;  open  up  the  mines,  and 
make  it  a  country  green  with  sugar-canes  and  as  sweet  as 
Rimmel's  shop  by  reason  of  its  spicy  breezes.  There  are 
about  five  thousand  of  the  dominant  class;  they  possess 
altogether  a  revenue  of  about  ;,^6o,ooo  a  year,  a  good  deal 
less  than  a  first-class  fortune  in  England.  As  every  man 
of  the  five  thousand  likes  to  have  his  share  of  the  ;j^6o,ooo 
there  is  not  much  saved  in  the  year.  Consequently,  when 
one  reads  that  the  Republic  of  Eldorado  owes  the  people 
of  Great  Britain  and  France,  the  only  two  European 
States  which  have  money  to  lend,  the  sum  of  six  millions. 


334  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

one  feels  sorry  for  the  people  of  Eldorado.  It  must  be  a 
dreadful  thing  for  a  high-minded  republican  to  have  so 
little  and  to  owe  so  much.  Fancy  a  man  with  ;^6oo  a 
year  in  debt  to  the  tune  of  ;^6o,ooo. 

It  all  grew  by  degrees.  Formerly  the  Eldoradians  owed 
nothing.  In  those  days  champagne  was  unknown,  claret 
never  seen,  and  the  native  drink  was  rum.  Nothing  can 
be  better  for  the  natives  than  their  rum,  because 
it  kills  them  quickly,  and  so  rids  the  earth  of  a 
pestilent  race.  In  an  evil  moment  it  came  into  the 
head  of  an  enterprising  Eldoradian  President  to  get 
up  a  loan.  He  asked  for  a  million,  which  is,  of 
course,  a  trifle  to  a  nation  which  has  nothing,  does 
nething,  and  saves  nothing.  They  got  so  much  of  their 
million  as  enabled  them  to  raise  everybody's  salary  and 
the  pay  of  the  standing  army,  also  to  make  the  dividend 
certain  for  a  few  years.  After  this  satisfactory  transac- 
tion, somebody  boldly  ordered  the  importation  of  a  few 
cases  of  brandy.  The  descent  of  Avernus  is  easy  and 
pleasant.  Next  year  they  asked  for  two  miUions  and  a 
half.  They  got  this  small  trifle  conceded  to  them  on  ad- 
vantageous terms — lo  per  cent.,  which  is  nothing  to  a  Re- 
public with  ;;^6o,ooo  a  year,  and  the  stock  at  60.  The  pay 
of  every  ofificial  was  doubled,  the  army  had  new  shirts 
issued,  and  there  were  fireworks  at  San  Mercurio,  the  prin- 
cipal town.  They  promised  to  build  railways  leading  from 
nowhere  into  continental  space,  to  carry  passengers  who 
did  not  exist,  and  goods  not  yet  invented.  The  same  in- 
novator who  had  introduced  the  brandy  now  went  farther, 
and  sent  for  claret  and  champagne.  Then  they  asked  for 
more  loans,  and  went  ahead  quite  like  a  First-class 
Power. 

When  there  was  no  more  money  to  pay  the  dividends 
with,  and  no  more  loans  to  be  raised,  Eldorado  busted 
up. 

The  gallant  officers  who  commanded  the  standing  army 
are  now   shirtless  and  bootless;  the  men  of  the  standing 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  335 

army  have  disappeared;  grass  grows  around  the  house  of 
the  importer  of  European  luxuries;  but  content  has  not 
returned  to  San  Mercurio.  The  empty  bottles  remain  to 
remind  the  populace  of  lost  luxuries;  the  national  taste  in 
drink  is  hopelessly  perverted;  San  Mercurio  is  ill  at  ease; 
and  Don  Rufiano  trembles  in  his  marble  palace. 

But  a  year  ago  the  country  was  not  quite  played  cut. 
There  seemed  a  chance  yet  to  those  who  had  not  the  ma- 
terials at  hand  for  a  simple  sum  in  Arithmetic. 

The  next  morning  saw  the  appearance  of  the  pamphlet 
— a  short  but  telling  pamphlet  of  thirty-two  pages — called 
"  Eldorado  and  her  Resources.  Addressed  to  the  Holders 
of  Eldorado  Stock,  by  Oliver  St.  George  Wylie." 

The  author  took  a  gloomy  but  not  a  despairing  view. 
He  mentioned  that  where  there  was  no  revenue  there 
could  be  no  dividends.  Therefore,  he  said,  it  behooved 
Eldorado  stock-holders  to  be  sure  that  something  was 
being  done  with  their  money.  Then  he  gave  pages  of 
facts  and  figures  which  proved  the  utter  insolvency  of  the 
State  unless  something  could  be  done.  And  he  then  pro- 
ceeded to  point  out  the  amazing  resources  of  the  countr)', 
could  only  a  little  energy  be  introduced  into  the  Council, 
He  drew  a  lively  picture  of  millions  of  acres,  the  finest 
ground  in  the  world,  planted  with  sugar-cane;  forests  of 
mahogany;  silver  mines  worked  by  contented  and  labori- 
ous Indians;  ports  crowded  with  merchant  fleets,  each  re- 
turning home  with  rich  argosies;  and  a  luxurious  capital 
of  marble  made  beautiful  by  countless  palaces. 

At  eleven  Mr.  Wylie  called  on  Gabriel  Cassilis  again. 
He  brought  with  him  his  pamphlet. 

"  I  have  read  it  already,"  said  Mr.  Cassilis.  "  It  is  on 
the  whole  well  done,  and  expresses  my  own  view,  in  part. 
But  I  think  you  have  piled  it  up  too  much  towards  the 
end." 

"*  Why  did  you  not  give  me  clearer  instructions,  then  ?" 

"*  [  dare  say  it  will  have  a  success.  Meantime,"  said  the 
financier,  pushing  over  a  little  bag,  "  you  can  count  that. 


336  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

There  ought  to  be  fifty  sovereigns.  Good-morning,  Mr. 
WyHe." 

Good-morning,  Mr.  Cassilis.  I  don't  know" — he  turned 
the  bag  of  gold  over  in  his  hands — "  I  don't  know;  thirty 
years  ago  I  should  have  looked  with  suspicion  on  such  a 
job  as  this;  thirty  years  ago  " 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Wylie." 

"  Thirty  years  ago  I  should  have  thought  that  a  man 
who  could  afford  fifty  pounds  for  a  pamphlet " 

"Well?" 

"  Well — that  he  had  his  little  game.  And  I  should  have 
left  that  man  to  play  it  by  himself.  Good-morning  again, 
Mr.  Cassilis.  You  know  my  address,  I  believe,  in  case  of 
any  other  little  job  turning  up." 

That  afternoon  Eldorado  stock  went  down.  It  was 
lucky  for  Mr.  Gabriel  Cassilis,  because  he  wished  to  buy — 
and  did — largely. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

"  It  Is  my  lady  !    Oh,  it  Is  my  love- 
Would  that  she  knew  she  were  I' 

«♦  T  ACK  is  late,"  said  Phillis. 

I  She  was  making  the  prettiest  picture  that  painter 

ever  drew,  standing  in  the  sunlight,  with  the  laburnums 
and  lilacs  behind  her  in  their  fresh  spring  glory.  Her 
slender  and  shapely  figure,  clad  in  its  black  riding  habit, 
stood  out  in  relief  against  the  light  and  shade  of  the  new- 
ly-born foliage;  she  wore  one  of  the  pretty  hats  of  last 
year's  fashion,  and  in  her  hand  she  carried  the  flowers  she 
had  just  been  gathering.  Her  face  was  in  repose,  and  in 
its  clear  straight  lines  might  have  served  for  a  model 
Diana,  chaste  and  fair.  It  was  habitually  rather  a  grave 
face;  that  came  of  much  solitude  and  long  companionship 
with  an  old  man.  And  the  contrast  was  all  the  greater 
when  she  lit  up  with  a  smile  that  was  like  a  touch  of  ten- 


THE  GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  337 

der  sunshine  upon  her  face  and  gave  the  statue  a  soul. 
But  now  she  stood  waiting,  and  her  eyes  were  grave. 

Agatha  L'Estrange  watched  her  from  her  shady  garden 
seat.  The  girl's  mind  was  full  of  the  hidden  possibilities 
of  things — for  herself;  the  elder  lady — to  whom  life  had 
given,  as  she  thought,  all  it  had  to  give — was  thinking  of 
these  possibilities  too — for  her  charge.  Only  they  ap- 
proached the  subject  from  different  points  of  view.  To 
the  girl,  an  eager  looking  forward  to  new  joys  which  were 
yet  not  the  ordinary  joys  of  London  maidenhood.  Each 
successive  day  was  to  reveal  to  her  more  secrets  of  life; 
she  was  born  for  happiness  and  sunshine;  the  future  was 
brighter  in  some  dim  and  misty  fashion,  far  brighter  than 
the  present;  it  was  like  a  picture  by  Claude,  where  the  un- 
trained eye  sees  nothmg  but  mist  and  vapour,  rich  with 
gorgeous  colour,  blurring  the  outlines  which  lie  behind. 
But  the  elder  lady  saw  the  present  and  feared  the  future. 
Every  man  thinks  he  will  succeed  till  he  finds  out  his  own 
weakness;  every  woman  thinks  she  is  born  for  the  best  of 
this  world's  gifts — to  happiness,  to  be  lapped  in  warmth 
and  comfort,  to  be  clothed  with  the  love  of  husband  and 
children  as  with  a  garment.  Some  women  get  it.  Agatha 
had  not  received  this  great  happiness.  A  short  two  years 
of  colourless  wedded  life  with  a  man  old  enough  to  be  her 
father,  and  twenty  years  of  widowhood.  It  was  not  the 
lot  she  might  have  chosen;  not  the  lot  she  wished  for 
Phillis.  And  then  she  thought  of  Jack  Dunquerque. 
Oddly  enough,  the  future,  in  whatever  shape  it  was  pres- 
ent to  the  brain  of  Phillis,  was  never  without  the  figure  of 
Jack  Dunquerque. 

**  Jack  is  late,"  said  Phillis. 

"  Come  here,  dear,  out  of  the  sun;  we  must  take  a  little 
care  of  our  complexion.     Sit  down  and  let  us  talk." 

Agatha  took  Phillis's  hand  in  hers,  as  the  girl  sat  upon 
the  grass  at  her  feet. 

"  Let  us  talk.  Tell  me,  dear  Phillis,  don't  you  think  a 
little  too  much  about  Mr.  Dunquerque  ?" 


338  THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"  About  Jack  ?  How  can  I,  Agatha  ?  Is  he  not  my 
first  friend  ?" 

She  did  not  blush;  she  did  not  hesitate;  she  looked 
frankly  in  Agatha's  face.  The  light  of  love  which  the 
elder  lady  expected  was  not  there  yet. 

"  Changed  as  you  are,  my  dear,  in  some  things,  you  are 
only  a  child  still,"  said  Agatha. 

"  Am  I  only  a  child  ?"  asked  Phillis.  "  Tell  me  why 
you  say  so  now,  dear  Agatha.  Is  it  because  I  am  fond  of 
Jack  ?" 

"  No,  dear/' Mrs.  L'Estrange  laughed.  What  was  to 
be  said  to  this  jeune  ingeune  ?     "  Not  quite  that." 

"  I  have  learned  a  great  deal — oh,  a  great  deal — since  I 
came  here.     How  ignorant  I  was  !     How  foolish  !" 

"  What  have  you  learned,  Phillis  ?" 

"  Well,  about  people.  They  are  not  all  so  interesting 
as  they  seemed  at  first.  Agatha,  it  seems  like  a  loss  not 
to  think  so  much  of  people  as  I  did.  Some  are  foolish, 
like  the  poor  curate — are  all  curates  foolish,  I  wonder  ? — 
some  seem  to  say  one  thing  and  mean  another,  like  Mr. 
Cassilis;  some  do  not  seem  to  care  for  anything  in  the 
the  world  except  dancing;  some  talk  as  if  china  was  the 
only  thing  worth  living  for;  but  some  are  altogether  lovely 
and  charming,  like  yourself,  my  dear." 

•*Go  on,  Phillis,  and  tell  me  more." 

"  Shall  I  ?  I  am  foolish,  perhaps,  but  most  of  our  visi- 
tors have  disappointed  me.  How  can  people  talk  about 
china  as  if  the  thing  could  he  felt,  like  a  picture  ?  What 
is  it  they  like  so  much  in  dancing  and  skating-rinks,  and 
they  prefer  them  to  music  and  painting,  and — and — the 
beautiful  river  ?" 

"  Wait  till  you  come  out,  dear  Phillis,"  said  Agatha. 

For  all  the  things  in  which  young  ladies  do  most  delight 
were  to  her  a  vanity  and  foolishness.  She  heard  them 
talk  and  she  could  not  understand.  She  was  to  wait  till 
she  came  out.  And  was  her  coming  out  to  be  the  putting 
on  of  the  Coping-stone  ? 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  339 

"  Jack  is  late,"  said  Phillis, 

It  was  a  little  expedition.  Mrs.  L'Estrange  and  Gilead 
Beck  were  to  drive  to  Hampton  Court,  while  Jack  and 
Phillis  rode.  It  was  the  first  of  such  expeditions.  In 
late  May  and  early  June  the  Greater  London,  as  the 
Registrar  calls  it,  is  a  marvel  and  a  miracle  of  loveliness; 
in  all  the  world  there  are  no  such  meadows  of  buttercups, 
with  fragrant  hedges  of  thorn;  there  are  no  such  gener- 
ous and  luxuriant  growths  of  westeria,  with  purple  clus- 
ters; there  are  no  such  woods  of  horse-chestnuts,  with 
massive  pyramids  of  white  blossom;  there  are  no  such 
apple-orchards  and  snow-clad  forests  of  white  blossomed 
plum-trees  as  are  to  be  seen  around  this  great  city  of  ours. 
Colonials  returned  from  exile  shed  tears  when  they  see 
them,  and  think  of  arid  Aden  and  thirsty  Indian  plains; 
the  American  owns  that  though  Lake  George  with  its 
hundred  islets  is  lovely,  and  the  Hudson  River  a  thing  to 
dream  of,  there  is  nothing  in  the  States  to  place  beside 
the  incomparable  result  of  wealth  and  loving  care  which 
the  outlying  suburbs  of  south  and  western  London  show. 

If  it  was  new  to  Phillis — if  every  new  journey  made  her 
pulses  bound,  and  every  new  place  seen  was  another  rev- 
elation— it  was  also  new  to  the  American,  who  looked  so 
grave  and  smiled  so  kindly,  and  sometimes  made  such 
funny  observations. 

Gilead  Beck  was  more  silent  with  the  ladies  than  with 
Jack,  which  was  natural,  because  his  only  experience  of 
the  sex  was  that  uncomfortable  episode  in  his  life  when  he 
taught  school  and  fought  poor  Pete  Conkling.  And  to 
this  adventurer,  this  man  who  had  been  at  all  trades — who 
had  roamed  about  the  world  for  thirty  years;  who  had 
habitually  consorted  with  miners  and  adventurers,  whom 
the  comic  American  books  have  taught  us  to  regard  as  a 
compound  of  drunkard,  gambler,  buccaneer,  blasphemer, 
and  weeping  sentimentalist — his  manner  of  life  had  not 
been  able  to  destroy  the  chivalrous  respect  for  women 
with  which  an  American  begins  life.     Only  he  had  never 


34°  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

known  a  lady  at  all  until  now ;  never  any  lady  in 
America. 

In  spite  of  his  life,  this  man  was  neither  coarse  nor 
vulgar.  He  was  modest,  knowing  his  defects,  and  he  was 
humble.  Nevertheless,  he  had  the  self-respect  which 
none  of  his  countrymen  are  without.  He  was  an  undenia- 
ble "  ranker,"  a  fact  of  which  he  was  proud,  because,  if 
he  had  a  weakness,  it  was  to  regard  himself  as  another 
Cromwell,  singled  out  and  chosen.  He  had  two  lan- 
guages, of  one  of  which  he  made  sparing  use,  save  when 
he  narrated  his  American  experiences.  This,  as  we  have 
seen,  was  a  highly  ornamental  tongue,  a  gallery  of  im- 
agery, a  painted  chamber  of  decorated  metaphor — the 
language  of  wild  California,  an  argot  which,  on  occasions, 
he  handled  with  astounding  vigour.  The  other  was  the 
tongue  of  the  cultivated  American.  In  England  we  bark; 
in  the  States  they  speak.  We  fling  out  our  conversation 
in  jerks;  the  man  of  the  States  shapes  his  carefully  in  his 
brain  before  he  speaks.  Gilead  Beck  spoke  like  a  gentle- 
man of  Boston,  save  that  his  defective  education  did  not 
allow  him  to  speak  so  well. 

His  great  terror  was  the  word  Shoddy,  He  looked  at 
Shoddy  full  in  the  face;  he  made  up  his  mind  what  Shod- 
dy was — the  thing  which  pretends  to  be  what  it  is  not,  a 
branch  of  the  great  family  which  has  the  Prig  at  one  end 
and  the  Snob  at  the  other — and  he  was  resolute  in  avoid- 
ing the  slightest  suspicion  of  Shoddy. 

If  he  was  of  obscure  birth,  with  antecedents  which  left 
him  nothing  to  boast  of  but  honesty,  he  was  also  soft- 
hearted as  a  girl,  quick  in  sympathy,  which  Adam  Smith 
teaches  us  is  the  groundwork  of  all  morals,  and  refined  in 
thought.  After  many  years,  a  man's  habitual  thoughts 
are  stamped  upon  his  face.  The  face  of  Gilead  Beck 
was  a  record  of  purity  and  integrity.  Such  a  man  in  Eng- 
land would,  by  the  power  of  circumstances,  have  been 
forced  into  taprooms,  and  slowly  dragged  downwards 
into  that  beery  morass  in  which,  as  in  another  Malebolge, 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  341 

the  British  workman  lies  stupefied  and  helpless.  Some 
wicked  cynic — was  it  Thackeray  ? — said  that  below  a  cer- 
tain class  no  English  woman  knows  the  meaning  of  virtue. 
He  might  have  said,  with  greater  truth,  that  below  a 
certain  class  no  Englishman  knows  the  meaning  of  self- 
respect. 

To  go  into  that  orderly  house  at  Twickenham,  where 
the  higher  uses  of  wealth  were  practically  illustrated  by  a 
refinement  new  to  the  good  ex-miner,  was  to  this  Ameri- 
can in  itself  an  education,  and  none  the  less  useful  because 
it  came  late  in  life.  To  be  with  the  ladies,  to  see  the  ten- 
der graces  of  the  elder  and  the  sweetness  of  the  younger, 
filled  his  heart  with  emotion. 

"  The  Luck  of  the  Golden  Butterfly,  Mrs.  L'Estrange," 
he  said,  •*  is  more  than  what  the  old  squaw  thought.  It 
began  in  dollars,  but  it  has  brought  me — this." 

They  were  sitting  in  the  garden,  Agatha  and  Gilead 
Peck,  while  Jack  Dunquerque  and  Phillis  were  watering 
flowers,  or  gathering  them,  or  always  doing  something 
which  would  keep  Jack  close  to  the  girl. 

"If  by 'this'  you  mean  friendship,  Mr.  Beck,"  said 
Agatha,  "  I  am  very  glad  of  it.  Dollars,  as  you  call 
money,  may  take  to  themselves  wings  and  fly  away,  but 
friends  do  not." 

It  will  be  observed  that  Agatha  L'Estrange  had  never 
seen  reason  to  abandon  the  old-fashioned  rules  invented 
by  those  philosophers  who  lived  before  Rochefoucauld. 

"  I  sometimes  think  I  should  like  to  try,"  said  Gilead 
Beck.  "Poor  men  have  no  friends;  they  have  mates  on 
our  side  of  the  water,  and  pals  on  yours." 

"  Mates  and  pals  ?"  cried  Phillis,  laughing.  "  Jack,  do 
you  know  mates  and  pals  ?" 

"  I  ought  to,"  said  Jack,  "because  I'm  poor  enough," 

"  Friends  come  to  rich  folk  naturally,  like  the  fruit  to 
the  tree,  or — or — the  flower  to  the  rose,"  Gilead  added 
poetically. 

"Or  the  mud  to  the  wheel,"  said  Jack. 


342  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  Suppose  all  my  dollars  were  suddenly  to  vamose — I 
mean,  to  vanish  away,"  Gilead  Beck  went  on  solemnly; 
"  would  the  friends  vanish  away  too  ?" 

"  Jack  would  not,"  said  Phillis  promptly,"  "  and  Agatha 
would  not.     Nor  should  I." 

She  held  out  her  hand  in  the  free  frank  manner  which 
was  her  greatest  charm.  Gilead  Beck  took  the  little  fin- 
gers in  his  big  rough  hand^  the  bones  of  which  seemed  to 
stick  out  all  over  it,  so  rugged  and  hard  it  was,  and  looked 
in  her  face  with  the  solemn  smile  which  made  Phillis  trust 
in  him,  and  raised  her  fingers  to  his  lips. 

Then  she  blushed  with  a  pretty  confusion  which  drove 
poor  Jack  to  the  verge  of  madness.  Indeed,  the  ardour 
of  his  passion  and  the  necessity  for  keeping  silence  were 
together  making  the  young  man  thin  and  pale. 

They  were  gradually  exploring,  this  party  of  four,  the 
outside  gardens,  parks,  castles,  and  views  of  London.  Of 
course,  they  were  as  new  to  Jack  and  Mrs.  L'Estrange  as 
they  were  to  Phillis  and  the  American.  Jack  knew  Green- 
wich, where  he  had  dined;  and  Richmond,  where  he  had 
dined ;  and  the  Crystal  Palace,  where  he  had  also  dined, 
revealed  to  him  one  summer  evening  an  unknown  stretch 
of  fair  country;  more  than  that  he  knew  not. 

Perhaps  more  exciting  pleasures  might  have  been  found, 
but  this  simple  party  found  their  own  unsophisticated  de- 
light in  driving  and  riding  through  green  lanes. 

"  Phillis  will  have  to  come  out  next  year,"  said  Agatha, 
half  apologising  to  herself  for  enjoying  such  things.  **  We 
must  amuse  her  while  we  can." 

They  went  to  Virginia  Water,  where  Mr.  Beck  made 
some  excellent  observations  on  the  ruins  and  on  the  flight 
of  time,  insomuch  that  it  was  really  sad  to  discover  that 
they  were  only,  so  to  speak,  new  ruins. 

They  went  to  Hampton  Court,  where  they  strolled 
through  the  picture  galleries  and  looked  at  the  Lely  beau- 
ties; walked  up  the  long  avenues,  and  saw  that  quaint  old 
mediaeval  garden  which  lies  hidden  away  at  the  side  of  the 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  343 

Palace,  marked  by  few.  Gilead  Beck  said  that  if  he  was 
the  Queen  and  had  such  a  place  he  should  sometimes  live 
in  it,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  giving  a  dinner  in  the  great 
Hall.  But  Phillis  liked  best  the  gardens,  with  their  old- 
fashioned  flowers,  and  the  peace  which  reigns  perpetually 
in  the  quaint  old  courts.  And  Gilead  Beck  asked  Jack 
privately  if  he  thought  the  Palace  might  be  bought,  and  if 
so,  for  how  much. 

They  visited  Windsor.  Mr.  Beck  said  that  if  he  had 
such  a  location  he  should  always  live  there;  he  speculated 
on  the  probable  cost  of  erecting  such  a  fortress  on  the 
banks  of  the  Hudson  River;  and  then  he  cast  his  imagin- 
ation backwards  up  the  stream  of  time  and  plunged  into 
history. 

Phillis  allowed  him  to  go  on,  while  he  jumbled  kings, 
mixed  up  cardinals,  and  tried,  by  the  recovery  of  old  asso- 
ciations, to  connect  the  venerable  pile  with  the  past. 

"  From  one  of  those  windows,  I  guess,"  he  said,  point- 
ing his  long  arm  vaguely  round  the  narrow  lattices, 
"  Charles  came  out  to  be  beheaded,  while  Oliver  Crom- 
well spurted  ink  in  his  face.  It  was  rough  on  the  poor 
king.  Seems  to  me,  kings  very  often  do  have  a  rough 
time.  And  perhaps,  too,  that  Cardinal  Thomas  d  Beckett, 
when  he  told  Henry  IV.  that  he  wished  he'd  served  his 
country  as  well  as  he'd  loved  his  God,  it  was  on  this 
very  terrace.     Perhaps  " 

"  O  Mr.  Beck  !  when  did  you  learn  English  history," 
cried  Phillis. 

Then,  like  a  little  pedant  as  she  was,  she  began  to  un- 
fold all  that  she  knew  about  the  old  fortress  and  its  history. 
Its  history  is  not  so  grim  as  that  of  the  Tower  of  London, 
which  she  had  once  narrated  to  Jack  Dunquerque;  but  it 
has  a  picturesque  story  of  its  own,  which  the  girl  somehow 
made  out  from  the  bare  facts  of  English  history — all  she 
knew.  But  these  her  imagination  converted  into  living 
and  indisputable  truths,  pictures  whose  only  fault  was  that 
the  lights  were  too  bright  and  the  shadows  too  intense. 


344  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

Alas,  this  is  the  way  with  posterit)''  !  The  dead  are  to 
be  judged  as  they  seem  from  such  acts  as  have  remained 
on  record.  The  force  of  circumstances,  the  mixture  of 
motives,  the  general  muddle  of  good  and  bad  together, 
are  lost  in  the  summing-up;  and  history,  which  after  all 
only  does  what  Phillis  did,  but  takes  longer  to  do  it,  paints 
Nero  black  and  Titus  white,  with  the  clear  and  hard  out- 
line of  an  etching. 

Gilead  Beck,  after  the  lecture,  looked  round  the  place 
with  renewed  interest. 

"  I  am  more  ignorant  than  I  thought,"  he  said  humbly. 
"  But  I  am  trying  to  read.  Miss  Fleming." 

"  Are  you  !"  she  cried,  with  a  real  delight  in  finding,  as 
she  thought,  one  other  person  in  the  world  as  ignorant  of 
that  art  as  herself.     "  And  how  far  have  you  got  ?" 

"  I've  got  so  far,"  he  said,  "  that  I've  lost  my  way,  and 
shall  have  to  go  back  again.  It  was  all  through  Robert 
Browning.  My  dear  young  lady, — "  he  said  this  in  his 
most  impressive  tones, — "  if  you  should  chance  upon  one 
of  his  books  with  a  pretty  title,  such  as  Red  Cotton  Night- 
cap Country^  or  Fifine  at  the  Fair,  don't  read  it,  don't 
try  it.  It  isn't  a  fairy  story,  nor  a  love  story.  It's 
a  story  without  an  end,  it's  a  story  told  upsy-down  ;  it's 
like  wandering  in  a  forest  without  a  path.  It  gets  into 
your  brain  and  makes  it  go  round  ;  it  gets  into  your 
eyes  and  makes  you  see  ghosts.  Don't  you  look  at  that 
book. 

•'  Reading  in  a  general  way,  and  if  you  don't  take  too 
much  of  it,  is  a  fine  thing,"  he  continued.  "  The  difficulty 
is  to  keep  the  volumes  separate  in  your  head.  Anybody 
can  write  a  book.  I've  written  columns  enough  in  the 
Clearville  Roarer  for  a  dozen  books  ;  but  it  takes  a  man 
to  read  one." 

"  Ah,  but  it  is  different  with  you,"  said  Phillis.  "  I  am 
only  in  words  of  two  syllables.  I've  just  got  through  the 
first  reading-book.  *  The  cat  has  drunk  up  all  the  milk.' 
I  suppose  I  must  go  on  with  it,  but   I  think  it  is  better  to 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  345 

have  some  one  to  read  for  you.  I  am  sure  Jack  would 
read  for  me  whenever  I  asked  him." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Gilead  Beck,  "  Why 
not  keep  a  clerk  to  read  for  you,  and  pay  out  the  infor- 
mation in  small  chunks  ?  I  should  like  to  tackle  Mr. 
Carlyle  that  way." 

"  Agatha  is  reading  a  novel  to  me  now,"  Phillis  went  on. 
"  There  is  a  girl  in  it  ,  but  somehow  I  think  my  own  life 
is  more  interesting  than  hers.  She  belongs  to  a  part  of 
the  country  where  the  common  people  say  clever  things  ! 
— Oh,  very  clever  things  ! — and  she  herself  says  all  sorts  of 
clever  things." 

"  Mr.  Dunquerque,"  interrupted  Gilead  Beck,  who  was 
not  listening,  "  would  read  to  you  all  the  days  of  his  life, 
I  think,  if  you  would  let  him." 

Phillis  made  no  reply.  As  she  neither  blushed,  nor 
smiled,  nor  gave  any  of  the  ordinary  signs  of  apprehension 
with  which  most  young  ladies  would  have  received  this 
speech,  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  she  did  not  take  in  the 
full  meaning  of  it. 

"  There  is  one  thing  about  Mr.  Dunquerque,"  Gilead 
Beck  went  on,  "  that  belongs,  I  reckon,  to  you  English 
people  only.     He  is  not  a  young  man  " 

"  Jack  not  a  young  man  ?    Why,  Mr.  Beck  " 


"  Not  what  we  call  a  young  man.  Our  young  men  are 
sixteen  and  seventeen.  Mr.  Dunquerque  is  five-and-twen  • 
ty.  Our  men  of  five-and-twenty  are  grave  and  full  of  care. 
Mr.  Dunquerque  is  light-hearted  and  laughs.  That  is 
what  I  like  him  for." 

"  Yes  ;  Jack  laughs.  I  should  not  like  to  see  Jack 
grave." 

She  spoke  of  him  as  if  he  were  her  own  property.  To 
be  sure,  he  was  her  first  and  principal  friend.  She  could 
talk  to  him  as  she  could  talk  to  no  one  else.  And  she 
loved  him  with  the  deep  and  passionless  love,  as  yet,  of  a 
sister. 

*'  Yes,"  said  Gilead  Beck,  looking  round  him,  "  England 


346  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

is  a  great  country.  Its  young  men  are  not  all  mad  for 
dollars  ;  they  can  laugh  and  be  happy  ;  and  the  land  is 
one  great  garden.  Miss  Fleming,  that  is  the  happiest 
country,  I  guess,  whose  people  the  longest  keep  their 
youth." 

She  only  half  understood  him,  but  she  looked  in  his  face 
with  her  sweet  smile. 

"  It  is  like  a  dream.  That  I  should  be  walking  here 
with  you,  such  as  you,  in  this  grand  place — I,  Gilead  P. 
Beck.  To  be  with  you  and  Mr.  Dunquerque  is  like  get- 
ting back  the  youth  I  never  had  :  youth  that  isn't  always 
thinkin'  about  the  next  day  ;  youth  that  isn't  always  plan- 
nin'  for  the  future  ;  youth  that  has  time  to  enjoy  the 
sunshine,  to  look  into  a  sweet  gell's  eyes  and  fall  in  love — 
like  you,  my  pretty,  and  Mr.  Dunquerque — who  saved  my 
life." 

He  added  these  last  words  as  an  after-thought,  and  as 
if  he  was  reminded  of  some  duty  forgotten. 

Phillis  was  silent,  because  his  words  fell  upon  her  heart 
and  made  her  think.  It  was  not  her  youth  that  was  pro- 
longed ;  it  was  her  childhood.  And  that  was  dropping 
from  her  now  like  the  shell  of  the  chrysalis.  She  thought 
how,  somewhere  in  the  world,  there  were  people  born  to 
be  unhappy,  and  she  felt  humiliated  when  she  was 
selfishly  enjoying  what  they  could  not.  Somewhere 
in  the  world — and  where  ?  Close  to  her,  in  the  cottages 
where  Mrs.  L'Estrange  had  taken  her. 

For  until  then  the  poor,  who  are  always  with  us,  were 
not  unhappy,  to  Phillis,  nor  hungry,  nor  deserving  of  pity 
and  sympathy;  they  were  only  picturesque. 

They  went  to  St.  George's  Chapel,  after  over-ruling 
Gilead  Beck's  objections  to  attending  divine  service  — 
for  he  said  he  hadn't  been  to  meetin'  for  more  than  thirty 
years;  also,  that  he  had  not  yet  "got  religion" — and 
when  he  stood  in  the  stall  under  the  banner  of  its 
rightful  owner  he  looked  on  from  an  outsider's  point  of 
view. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  347 

The  ceremonial  of  the  ancient  Church  of  England  was 
to  him  a  pageant  and  a  scenic  display.  The  picture, 
however,  was  very  fine;  the  grand  chapel  with  its  splen- 
dor of  ornamentation;  the  banners  and  heraldry;  the  sur- 
pliced  sweet- voiced  boys;  the  dignified  white-robed  clergy- 
men; the  roll  of  the  organ;  the  sunlight  through  the 
painted  glass;  even  the  young  subaltern  who  came  clank- 
ing into  the  chapel  as  the  service  began, — there  was 
nothing,  he  said,  in  America  which  could  be  reckoned  a 
patch  upon  it.  Church  in  avenue  39,  New  York,  was 
painted  and  gilded  in  imitation  of  the  Alhambra;  that  was 
considered  fine,  but  could  not  be  compared  with  St. 
George's,  Windsor.  And  the  performance  of  the  ser- 
vice, he  said,  was  so  good  as  to  have  meriteda  larger  audi- 
ence. 

Jack  Dunquerque,  I  grieve  to  say,  did  not  attend  to  the 
service.  He  was  standing  beside  Phillis,  and  he  watched 
her  with  hungry  eyes.  For  she  was  looking  before  her  in 
a  sort  of  trance.  The  beauty  of  the  place  intoxicated  her. 
She  listened  with  soft  eyes  and  parted  lips.  All  was  artis- 
tic and  beautiful.  The  chapel  was  peopled  again  with 
mailed  knights;  the  voices  of  the  anthem  sang  the  great- 
ness and  the  glory  of  England;  the  sunshine  through  the 
painted  glass  gave  colour  to  the  picture  in  her  brain;  and 
when  the  service  was  over  she  came  out  with  dazed  look, 
as  one  who  is  snatched  too  suddenly  from  a  dream  of 
heaven. 

This  too,  like  everything  else,  was  part  of  her  educa- 
tion. She  had  learned  the  beauty  of  the  world  and  its 
splendours.  She  was  to  see  the  things  she  had  only 
dreamed  of,  but  by  dreaming  had  wrapped  in  a  cloud  of 
coloured  mist. 

When  was  it  to  be  completed,  her  education  ?  Phillis 
waited  for  that  Coping-stone  for  which  Joseph  Jagenal 
was  vainly  searching.  She  laughed  when  she  thought  of 
it,  the  mysterious  completion  of  Abraham  Dyson's  great 
fabric.    What  was  it  ? 


348  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

She  had  not  long  to  wait. 

"  I  love  her,  Mrs.  L'Estrange,'*  said  Jack  Dunquerque 
passionately,  on  the  evening  of  the  last  of  their  expedi- 
tions: I  love  her !" 

"  I  have  seen  it  for  some  time,"  Agatha  replied.  ■'  And 
I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  before,  but  I  did  not  like  to.  I 
am  afraid  I  have  been  very  wrong  m  encouraging  you  to 
come  here  so  often." 

"  Who  could  help  loving  her?"  he  cried,  "Tell  me, 
Mrs.  L'Estrange,  you  who  have  known  so  many,  was  there 
ever  a  girl  like  Phillis — so  sweet,  so  fresh,  so  pretty,  ?nd 
so  good  ?" 

"  Indeed,  she  is  all  that  you  say,"  Agatha  acknowl- 
edged. 

"  And  will  you  be  my  friend  with  Colquhoun  ?  I  am 
going  to  see  him  to-morrow  about  it,  because  I  cannot 
stand  it  any  longer." 

"  He  knows  that  you  visit  me;  he  will  be  prepared  in  a 
way.  And — Oh,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  why  are  you  in  such  a 
hurry  ?     Phillis  is  so  nice  and  you  are  so  young." 

"I  am  five-and-twenty,  and  Phillis  is  nineteen.' 

"  Then  Phillis  is  so  inexperienced." 

"Yes;  she  is  inexperienced,''  Jack  repeated.  "And  if 
experience  comes,  she  may  learn  to  love  another  man. ' 

"  That  is  what  all  the  men  say.  Why,  you  silly  boy,  if 
Phillis  were  to  love  you  first,  do  you  think  a  thousand 
men  could  make  her  give  you  up  ?'"' 

"  You  are  right :  but  she  does  not  love  me;  she  only 
likes  me;  she  does  not  know  what  love  means.  That  is 
bad  enough  to  think  of.     But  even  that  isn't  the  worst." 

"  What  more  is  there  ?" 

"  I  am  so  horribly,  so  abominably  poor.  My  brother 
Isleworth  is  the  poorest  peer  in  the  kingdom,  and  I  am 
about  the  poorest  younger  son.  And  Colquhoun  will  think 
I  am  coming  after  Phillis's  money." 

"  As  you  are  poor,  it  will  be  a  great  comfort  for  every- 
body concerned,"  said  Agatha,  with  good  sense,  "to  think 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  349 

that,  should  you  marry  Phillis,  she  has  some  money  to 
help  you  with.  Go  and  see  Lawrence  Colquhoun,  Mr. 
Dunquerque,  and — and  if  I  can  help  your  cause,  I  will. 
There  !     Now  let  us  have  no  more." 

"  They  will  make  a  pretty  pair,"  said  Mr.  Gilead  Beck 
presently  to  Mrs,  L'Estrange. 

"  O  Mr.  Beck,  you  are  all  in  a  plot !  And  perhaps  after 
all — and  Mr.  Dunquerque  is  so  poor." 

"  Is  that  so  ?"  Mr.  Beck  asked  eagerly.  "  Will  the 
young  lady's  guardian  refuse  the  best  man  in  the  world 
because  he  is  poor?  No,  Mrs,  L'Estrange,  there's  only 
one  way  out  of  this  muss,  and  perhaps  you  will  take  that 
way  for  me." 

"  What  is  it,  Mr.  Beck  ?" 

"  I  can't  say  myself  to  Mr.  Dunquerque,  "What  is 
mine  is  yours.'  And  I  can't  say  to  Mr.  Colquhoun — not 
with  the  delicacy  that  you  would  put  into  it — that  Mr. 
Dunquerque  shall  have  all  I've  got  to  make  him  happy. 
I  want  you  to  say  that  for  me.  Tell  him  there  is  no  two 
ways  about  it — that  Jack  Dunquerque  must  marry  Miss 
Fleming.  Lord,  Lord  !  why,  they  are  made  for  each 
other !  Look  at  him  now,  Mrs.  L'Estrange,  leanin' 
towards  her,  with  a  look  half  respectful  and  half  hungry. 
And  look  at  her,  with  her  sweet  innocent  eyes;  she  doesn't 
understand  it,  she  doesn't  know  what  he's  beatin'  down 
with  all  his  might :  the  strong  honest  love  of  a  man — the 
best  thing  he's  got  to  give.  Wait  till  you  give  the  word, 
and  she  feels  his  arms  about  her  waist,  and  his  lips  close 
to  hers.  It's  a  beautiful  thing,  love.  I've  never  been  in 
love  myself,  but  I've  watched  those  that  were;  and  I  ven- 
tuteto  tell  you,  Mrs.  L'Estrange,  that  from  the  Queen 
down  to  the  kitchen-maid,  there  isn't  a  woman  among 
them  all  that  isn't  the  better  for  being  loved.  And  they 
know  it,  too,  all  of  them,  except  that  pretty  creature," 


35©  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"  Pictoribus  atque  Poetis 
Quidllbet  audendi  semper  fuit  aequa  potestas." 

"  1  X  yTITH  commissions  " — Cornelius  Jagenal  spoke  as 

V  V  if  Gilead  Beck  was  a  man  of  multitude,  signify- 
ing many,  and  as  if  one  commission  was  a  thousand — 
"  with  commissions  pouring  in  as  they  should.  Brother 
Humphrey  " 

"  And  the  great  Epic,  the  masterpiece  of  the  century 
about  to  be  published  in  the  Grand  Style,  brother  Corne- 
lius, the  only  style  which  is  worthy  of  its  merits  " 

"Something  definite  should  be  attempted,  Hum- 
phrey " 

**  You  mean,  brother  " 

"With  regard  to 


"  With  regard  to  Phillis  Fleming." 

They  looked  at  each  other  meaningly  and  firmly.  The 
little  table  was  between  them;  it  was  past  twelve  o'clock; 
already  two  or  three  soda-water  bottles  were  lying  on  it 
empty;  and  the  world  looked  rosy  to  the  poetic  pair. 

Humphrey  was  the  first  to  speak  after  the  young  lady's 
name  was  mentioned.  He  removed  the  pipe  from  his 
mouth,  threw  back  his  head,  stroked  his  long  brown  beard, 
and  addressed  the  ceiling. 

"  She  is,"  he  said,  "she  is  indeed  a  charming  girl.  Her 
outlines  finely  but  firmly  drawn;  her  colouring  delicate, 
but  strongly  accentuated;  the  grouping  to  which  she  lends 
herself  always  differentiated  artistically;  her  single  atti- 
tudes designed  naturally  and  with  freedom;  her  flesh-tints 
remarkably  pure  and  sweet  ;  her  draperies  falling  in  artis- 
tic folds  ;  her  atmosphere  softened  as  by  the  perfumed 
mists  of  morning  ;  her  hair  tied  in  the  simple  knot  which 
is  the  admiration  and   despair  of  many  painters ; — you 


yHE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  35 1 

agree  with  my  rendering,  brother  Cornelius  " — he  turned 
his  reflective  gaze  from  the  ceiling,  and  fixed  his  lustrous 
eyes,  perhaps  with  the  least  little  look  of  triumph,  upon  his 
brother — "my  rendering  of  this  incomparable  Work?" 

He  spoke  of  the  young  lady  as  if  she  were  a  picture. 
This  was  because,  immediately  after  receiving  his  com- 
mission, he  bethought  him  of  reading  a  little  modern  criti- 
cism, and  so  bought  the  Academy  for  a  few  weeks.  In 
that  clear  bubbling  fount  of  modern  English  undefiled,  the 
Art  criticisms  are  done  with  such  entire  freedom  from 
cant  and  affectation  that  they  are  a  pleasure  to  read  ;  and 
from  its  pages  every  Prig  is  so  jealously  kept  out,  that  the 
paper  is  as  widely  circulated  and  as  popular  as  Punch  j 
thus  Humphrey  Jagenal  acquired  a  new  jargon  of  Art 
criticism,  which  he  developed  and  made  his  own. 

Cornelius  had  been  profiting  by  the  same  delightful  and 
genial  enemy  to  Mutual  Admiration  Societies.  He  was  a 
little  taken  aback  for  a  moment  by  the  eloquence  and 
fidelity  of  his  brother's  word-picture,  but  stimulated  to 
rivalry.  He  made  answer,  gazing  into  the  black  and 
hollow  depths  of  the  empty  fireplace,  and  speaking  slowly 
as  if  he  enjoyed  his  words  too  much  to  let  them  slip  out 
too  fast — 

"  She  is  all  that  you  say,  Humphrey.  From  your 
standpoint  nothing  could  be  better.  I  judge  her,  how- 
ever, from  my  own  platform.  I  look  on  her  as  one  of 
Nature's  sweetest  poems  ;  such  a  poem  as  defies  the 
highest  effort  of  the  greatest  creative  genius  ;  where  the 
cadenced  lines  are  sunlit,  and  as  they  ripple  on  make 
music  in  your  soul.  You  are  rapt  with  their  beauty  ;  you 
are  saddened  with  the  unapproachable  magic  of  their 
charm;  you  feel  the  deepest  emotionsof  the  heart  awakened 
and  beating  in  responsive  harmony.  And  when,  after 
long  and  patient  watching,  the  Searcher  after  the  Truth 
of  Beauty  feels  each  verse  sink  deeper  and  deeper  within 
him,  till  it,  becomes  a  part  of  his  own  nature,  there  arises 
before  him,  clad  in  mystic  and  transparent  Coan  robe,  the 


352  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

spirit  of  subtle  wisdom,  long  lying  perdu  in  those  magic 
utterances.  She  is  a  lyric  ;  she  is  a  sonnet ;  she  is  an 
epigram  " 

"  At  least,"  interrupted  Humphrey  unkindly,  cutting 
short  his  brother's  freest  flow,  "  at  least  she  doesn't  carry 
a  sting." 

"  Then  let  us  say  an  Idyl  " 

•'Cornelius,  make  an  Idyl  yourself  for  her,"  Humphrey 
interrupted  again,  because  really  his  brother  was  taking 
an  unfair  advantage  of  a  paltry  verbal  superiority.  "  Now 
that  we  have  both  described  her — and  I  am  sure,  brother," 
he  added  out  of  the  kindness  of  his  heart,  "no  description 
could  be  more  poetically  true  than  your  own — it  would 
make  even  a  stranger  see  Phillis  standing  in  a  vision  be- 
fore his  eyes.  But  let  us  see  what  had  better  be 
done." 

"We  must  act  at  once,  Humphrey.  We  must  call  upon 
her  at  her  guardian's,  Mrs.  L'Estrange,  at  Twickenham. 
Perhaps  that  3ady  does  not  know  so  many  men  of  genius 
as  to  render  the  accession  of  two  more  to  her  circle  any- 
thing but  a  pleasure'and  an  honour.  And  as  for  our  next 
steps,  they  must  be  guided  by  our  finesse,  by  our  knowU 
edge  of  the  world,  our  insight  into  a  woman's  heart,  our 
— shall  I  say  our  power  of  intrigue,  Humphrey  ?  " 

Then  the  Artist  positively  winked.  It  is  not  a  gesture 
to  be  commended  from  aa  artistic  point  of  view,  but  he 
did  it.     Then  he  chuckled  and  wagged  his  head. 

Then  the  Poet  in  his  turn  also  winked,  chuckled,  and 
wagged  his  head  too. 

"We  understand  each  other,  Humphrey.  We  always  do.' 

"  We  must  make  our  own  opportunity,"  said  the  Artist 
thoughtfully.     "  Not  together,  but  separately." 

"  Surely  separately.     Together  would  never  do." 

"We  will  go  to  bed  early  to-night,  in  order  to  be  fresh 
to-morrow.  Have  you — did  you — can  you  give  me  any 
of  your  own  experiences  in  this  way,  Cornelius  ?  " 

The  Poet  shook  his  head. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  353 

"  I  may  have  been  wooed,"  he  said.  "  Men  of  genius 
are  always  run  after.  But  as  I  am  a  bachelor,  you  see  it 
is  clear  that  I  never  proposed," 

Humphrey  had  much  the  same  idea  in  his  own  mind, 
and  felt  as  if  the  wind  was  a  little  taken  out  of  his  sails. 
This  often  happens  when  two  sister  craft  cruise  so  very 
close  alongside  of  each  other. 

"  Do  not  let  us  be  nervous,  Humphrey,"  the  elder 
brother  went  on  kindly.  "  It  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the 
world,  I  dare  say,  when  you  come  to  do  it.  Love  finds 
out  a  way." 

"  When  I  was  in  Rome  " Humphrey  said,  casting  his 

thoughts  backwards  thirty  years. 

"  When  I  was  in  Heidelberg  " said  Cornelius,  in  the 

same  mood  of  retrospective  meditation. 

"  There  was  a  model — a  young  artist's  model  " 

"  There  was  a  little  country  girl  " 

"  With  the  darkest  eyes,  and  hair  of  a  deep  blue-black, 
the  kind  of  colour  one  seems  only  to  read  of  or  to 
see  in  a  picture." 

"  With  blue  eyes  as  limpid  as  the  waters  of  the  Neckar, 
and  light-brown  hair  which  caught  the  sunshine  in  a  way 
that  one  seldom  seems  to  see,  but  which  we  poets  some- 
times sing  of." 

Then  they  both  started  and  looked  at  each  other  guiltily. 

"  Cornelius,"  said  Humphrey,  "  I  think  that  Phillis 
would  not  like  these  reminiscences.  We  must  offer  virgin 
hearts." 

"  True,  brother,"  said  Cornelius  with  a  sigh,  "  We  must. 
Yet  the  recollection  is  not  unpleasant." 

They  went  to  bed  early,  only  concentrating  into  two 
hours  the  brandy-and-soda  of  four.  It  was  a  wonderful 
thing  that  neither  gave  the  other  the  least  hint  of  a  sepa- 
rate and  individual  preference  for  Phillis.  They  were 
running  together,  as  usual,  in  double  harness,  and  so  far 
as  might  be  gathered  from  their  conversation  they  were 
proposing  to  themselves  that  both  thould  marry  Phillis, 


354  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

They  dressed  with  more  than  usual  care  in  the  morning, 
and,  without  taking  their  customary  walk,  sat  each  in  his 
own  room  till  two  o'clock,  when  Humphrey  sought  Cor- 
nelius in  the  Workshop. 

They  surveyed  each  other  with  admiration.  They  were 
certainly  a  remarkable  pair,  and,  save  for  that  little  red- 
ness of  the  nose  already  alluded  to,  they  were  more  youth- 
ful than  one  could  conceive  possible  at  the  age  of  fifty. 
Their  step  was  elastic;  their  eyes  were  bright;  Humphrey's 
beard  was  as  brown  and  silky,  Cornelius's  cheek  as  smooth, 
as  twenty  years  before.  This  it  is  to  lead  a  life  uncloud- 
ed and  devoted  to  contemplation  of  Art.  This  it  is  to 
have  a  younger  brother,  successful,  and  never  tired  of 
working  for  his  seniors. 

"  We  are  not  nervous,  brother  ?"  asked  Cornelius  with  a 
little  hesitation. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Humphrey  sturdily,  "  not  at  all.  Still, 
to  steady  the  system,  perhaps  " 

"Yes,"  said  Cornelius;  "you  are  quite  right,  brother. 
We  will." 

There  was  no  need  ot  words.  The  reader  knows  already 
what  was  implied. 

Humphrey  led  the  way  to  the  dining-room,  where  he 
speedily  found  a  pint  of  champagne.  With  this  modest 
pick-me-up,  which  no  one  surely  will  grudge  the  brethren, 
they  started  on  their  way. 

"  What  we  need,  Cornelius,"  said  Humphrey,  putting 
himself  outside  the  last  drop — "  What  we  need.  Not 
what  we  wish  for." 

Then  he  straightened  his  back,  smote  his  chest, 
stamped  lustily  with  his  right  foot,  and  looked  like  a  war- 
horse  before  the  battle. 

Unconscious  of  the  approaching  attack  of  these  two 
conquering  heroes,  Phillis  and  Agatha  L'Estrange  were 
sitting  in  the  shade  and  on  the  grass  :  the  elder  lady  with 
some  work,  the  younger  doing  nothing.  It  was  a  special 
characteristic  with  her  that  she  could  sit  for  hours  doing 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  355 

nothing.  So  the  modern  Arabs,  the  gipsies,  niggerdom  in 
general,  and  all  that  large  section  of  humanity  which  has 
never  learned  to  read  and  write,  are  contented  to  fold 
their  hands,  lie  down,  and  think  away  the  golden  hours. 
What  they  think  about,  these  untutored  tribes,  the  Lord 
only  knows.  Whether  by  degrees,  and  as  they  grow  old, 
some  faint  intelligence  of  the  divine  order  sinks  into  their 
",ouls,  or  whether  they  become  slowly  enwrapped  in  the 
beauty  of  the  world,  or  whether  their  thoughts,  always 
turned  in  the  bacon-and -cabbage  direction,  are  wholly 
gross  and  earthly,  I  cannot  tell.  Phillis's  thoughts  were 
still  as  the  thoughts  of  a  child,  but  as  those  of  a  child 
passing  into  womanhood  :  partly  selfish,  inasmuch  as  she 
consciously  placed  her  own  individuality,  as  every  child 
does,  in  the  centre  of  the  universe,  and  made  the  sun,  the 
moon,  the  planets,  and  all  the  minor  stars  revolve  around 
her ;  partly  unselfish,  because  they  hovered  about  the 
forms  of  two  or  three  people  she  loved,  and  took  the 
shape  of  devising  means  of  pleasing  these  people  ;  partly 
artistic,  because  the  beauty  of  the  June  afternoon  cried 
aloud  for  admiration,  while  the  sunshine  lay  on  the  lawns 
and  the  flower-beds,  threw  up  the  light  leaves  and  blos- 
soms of  the  passion-flower  on  the  house-side,  and  made 
darker  shadows  in  the  gables,  while  the  glorious  river  ran 
swiftly  at  her  feet.  The  river  of  which  she  never  tired. 
Other  things  lost  their  novelty,  but  the  river  never. 

"  I  wish  Jack  Dunquerque  were  here,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  I  wish  so,  too,"  said  Agatha.  "  Why  did  we  not  in- 
vite him,  Phillis  ?" 

Then  they  were  silent  again. 

"  I  wish  Mr.  Beck  would  call,"  remarked  Phillis. 

"  My  dear,  we  do  nothing  but  wish.  But  here  is  some- 
body— two  young  gentlemen.  Who  are  they,  I  won- 
der?" 

"  O  Agatha,  they  are  the  Twins  !" 

Phillis  sprang  from  her  seat,  and  ran  to  meet  them  with 
a.  most  unaffected  pleasure. 


356  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  This  is  Mr,  Cornelius  Jagenal,"  she  said,  introducing 
them  to  Agatha.  "The  Poet,  you  know."  And  here  she 
laughed,  because  Agatha  did  not  know,  and  Cornelius 
perked  up  his  head  and  tried  to  look  unconscious  of  his 
fame.  "  And  this  is  Mr.  Humphrey,  the  Artist."  And  then 
she  laughed  again,  because  Humphrey  did  exactly  the  same 
as  Cornelius,  only  with  an  air  of  deprecation,  as  one  who 
would  say,  "  Never  mind  my  fame  for  the  present." 

It  was  embarrassing  for  Mrs.  L'Estrange,  because  she 
could  not  for  her  life  recollect  any  Poet  or  Artist  named 
Jagenal.  The  men  and  their  work  were  alike  unknown 
to  her.  And  why  did  Phillis  laugh  ?  And  what  did  the 
pair  before  her  look  so  solemn  about  ? 

They  were  solemn  partly  from  vanity,  which  is  the 
cause  of  most  of  the  grave  solemnity  we  so  much  admire 
in  the  world,  and  partly  because,  finding  themselves  face 
to  face  with  Phillis,  they  became  suddenly  and  painfully 
aware  that  they  had  come  on  a  delicate  errand.  Corne- 
lius looked  furtively  at  Humphrey,  and  the  Artist  glanced 
at  the  Poet,  but  neither  found  any  help  from  his  brother. 
Their  courage,  as  evanescent  as  that  of  Mr.  Robert  Acres, 
was  rapidly  oozing  out  at  their  boots. 

Phillis  noted  their  embarrassment,  and  tried  to  put 
them  at  their  ease.  This  was  difficult ;  they  were  so  inor- 
dinately vain,  so  self-conscious,  so  unused  to  anything  be- 
yond their  daily  experience,  that  they  were  as  awkward  as 
a  pair  of  fantoccini.  People  who  live  alone  get  into  the 
habit  of  thinking  and  talking  about  themselves ;  the 
Twins  were  literally  unable  to  think  or  speak  on  any  other 
subject. 

Phillis,  they  saw,  to  begin  with,  was  altered.  Somehow 
she  looked  older.  Certainly  more  formidable.  And  it 
was  awkward  to  feel  that  she  was  taking  them  in  a  man.- 
ner  under  her  own  protection  before  a  stranger.  And 
why  did  she  laugh  ?  The  task  which  they  discussed  with 
such  an  airy  confidence  over  the  brandy-and-soda  as- 
sumed, in  the  presence  of  the  young  lady  herself,  dimen- 


THE    GOLDKN    BUTTERFLY.  357 

sions  quite  out  of  proportion  to  their  midnight  estimate. 
All  these  considerations  made  them  feel  and  look  ill  at 
ease. 

Also  it  was  vexatious  that  neither  of  the  ladies  turned 
the  conversation  upon  the  subject  nearest  to  each  man's 
heart — his  own  Work.  On  the  contrary,  Phillis  asked 
after  Joseph,  and  sent  him  an  invitation  to  come  and  see 
her ;  Mrs.  L'Estrange  talked  timidly  about  the  weather, 
and  tried  them  on  the  Opera,  on  the  Academy,  and  on  the 
last  volume  of  Browning.  It  was  odd  in  so  great  an  Art- 
ist as  Humphrey  that  he  had  not  yet  seen  the  Academy, 
and  in  so  great  a  Poet  as  Cornelius  that  he  had  not  read 
any  recent  poetry.  Then  they  tried  to  talk  about  flowers. 
The  two  city-bred  artists  knew  a  wall-flower  from  a  cab- 
bage and  a  rose  from  a  sprig  of  asparagus,  and  that 
was  all. 

Phillis  would  not  help  either  the  Twins  or  Agatha,  so 
that  the  former  grew  more  helpless  every  moment.  In 
fact,  the  girl  was  staring  at  them,  and  wondering  to  feel 
how  differently  she  regarded  men  and  manners  since  that 
first  evening  in  Carnarvon  Square,  when  they  pro- 
duced champagne  in  her  honour,  and  drank  it  all  up  them 
selves. 

She  remembered  how  she  had  looked  at  them  with  awe; 
how,  after  a  day  or  two,  this  reverence  vanished  ;  how 
she  found  them  to  be  mere  shallow  wind-bags  and  hum- 
bugs, and  regarded  them  with  contempt ;  how  she  made 
fun  of  them  with  Jack  Dunquerque  ;  and  how  she  drew 
their  portraits. 

And  now — it  was  a  mark  of  her  advanced  education — 
she  looked  at  them  with  pity.  They  were  so  dependent 
on  each  other  for  admiration  ;  they  were  so  childishly 
vain  ;  they  were  so  full  of  themselves  ;  and  their  daily  life 
of  sleep,  drink,  and  boastful  pretension  showed  itself  to 
her  experienced  head  as  so  mean  and  sordid  a  thing. 

She  came  to  the  help  of  the  whole  party,  and  took  the 
Twins  for  a  walk  among  the  flowers,  flattering  them,  ask- 


358  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

ing  how  Work  got  on,  congratulating  them  on  their  good 
looks,  and  generally  making  things  comfortable  for 
them. 

Presently  she  found  herself  on  the  sloping  bank  of  the 
river,  where  she  was  wont  to  sit  with  Jack.  Cornelius 
Jagenal  alone  was  by  her  side.  She  looked  round,  and 
saw  Humphrey  standing  before  Mrs.  L'Estrange,  and 
occasionally  glancing  over  his  shoulder.  And  she  noticed, 
then,  a  curiously  nervous  motion  of  her  companion's 
hand  ;  also  that  his  cheek  was  twitching  with  some  secret 
emotion.  He  looked  older,  too,  she  thought ;  perhaps 
that  was  the  bright  sunlight,  which  brought  out  the  dells 
and  valleys  and  the  crows-feet  round  his  eyes. 

He  cleared  his  voice  with  an  effort,  and  opened  his 
mouth  to  speak,  but  shut  it  again,  silent. 

"You  were  going  to  say,  Mr.  Cornelius?" 

"  Yes.     Will  you  sit  down.  Miss  Fleming  ?" 

"He  is  going  to  tell  me  about  the  Upheaving  of 
JElfred"  thought  Phillis.  "  And  how  does  the  Workshop 
get  on  ?''  she  asked. 

"  Fairly  well,"  he  replied  modestly.  "  We  publish  in 
the  autumn.  The  work  is  to  be  brought  out,  you  will  be 
glad  to  learn,  with  all  the  luxury  of  the  best  illustrations, 
paper,  print,  and  binding  that  money  can  procure." 

"  So  that  all  you  want  is  the  poem  itself,"  said  Phillis, 
with  a  mischievous  light  in  her  eyes. 

"  Ye-es  " he  winced  a  little.     "  As  you  say,  the 

Epic  itself  alone  is  wanting,  and  that  advances  with 
mighty  strides.  My  brother  Humphrey — a  noble  creat- 
ure is  Humphrey,  Miss  Fleming" 

She  bowed  and  smiled. 

"  Is  he  still  hard  at  work  ?  Always  hard  at  work  ?" 
She  laughed  as  she  asked  the  question. 

"  His  work  is  crushing  him,  Miss  Fleming — may  I  call 
you  Phillis  ?"  He  spoke  very  solemnly — "  His  work  is 
crushing  him." 

"  Of  course  you  may,  Mr.  Cornelius.     We  are  quifee  old 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  359 

friends.  But  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  your  brother  is  being 
crushed." 

"Yesterday,  Phillis — I  feel  to  you  already  like  a 
brother,"  pursued  the  Poet — "yesterday  I  discovered  the 
secret  of  Humphrey's  life.     May  I  tell  it  you  ?" 

"  If  you  please."  She  began  to  be  a  little  bored.  Also 
she  noticed  that  Agatha  wore  a  look  of  mute  suffering,  as 
if  the  Artist  was  getting  altogether  too  much  for  her. 
"  If  you  please  ;  but  be  quick,  because  I  think  Mrs. 
L'Estrange  wants  me." 

"  I  will  tell  you  the  secret  in  a  few  words.  My  brother 
Humphrey  adores  you  with  all  the  simplicity  and  strength 
of  a  noble  artistic  nature." 

"  Does  he  ?  You  mean  he  likes  me  very  much.  How 
good  he  his  !  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  Mr.  Cornelius,  though 
why  it  need  be  a  secret  I  do  not  know." 

"  Then  my  poor  brother — he  is  all  loyalty,  and  brings 
you  a  virgin  heart,"  (O  CorneUus  !  and  the  model  with 
the  blue  black  hair  !)  "an  unsullied  name,  and  the  bright 
prospects  of  requited  genius — my  brother  may  hope  ?" 
Phillis  did  not  understand  one  word. 
"Certainly,"  she  said;  "I  am  sure  I  would  like  to  see 
him  hoping." 

"  I  will  tell  him,  sister  PhiUis,"  said  Cornelius,  nodding 
with  a  sunny  smile.  "  You  have  made  two  men  happy, 
and  one  at  least  grateful." 

His  mission  was  accomplished,  his  task  done.  It  will 
hardly  be  believed  that  this  treacherous  bard,  growing 
more  and  more  nervous  as  he  reflected  on  the  uncertainty 
of  the  wedded  life,  actually  came  to  a  sudden  resolution 
to  plead  his  brother's  cause.  Humphrey  was  the  younger. 
Let  him  bear  off  the  winsome  bride. 

"It  will  be  a  change  in  our  Hves,"  he  said.  "You  will 
allow  me  to  have  my  share  in  his  happiness  ?" 

Phillis    made     no     reply.       Decidedly    the  Poet  was 
gone  distraught  with  overmuch  reading  and  thought. 
Cornelius,  smiling,  crowing,  and  laughing  almost  like  a, 


360  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY, 

child,  pressed  her  hand  and  left  her,  stepping  with  a 
youthful  elasticity  across  the  lawn.  Humphrey,  sitting 
beside  Mrs.  L'Estrange,  was  bewildering  that  good  lady 
with  a  dessertation  on  colour  a  propos  of  a  flower  which  he 
held  in  his  hand.  Agatha  could  not  understand  this 
strange  pair,  who  looked  so  youthful  until  you  came  to 
see  them  closely,  and  then  they  seemed  to  be  of  any  age 
you  pleased  to  name.  Nor  could  she  understand  their 
talk,  which  was  pedantic,  affected,  and  continually  involved 
the  theory  that  the  speaker  was,  next  to  his  brother,  the 
greatest  of  living  men. 

If  it  was  awkward  and  stupid  sitting  with  Humphrey  on 
a  bench  while  he  discoursed  on  Colour,  it  was  still  more 
awkward  when  the  other  one  appeared  with  a  countenance 
wreathed  with  smiles,  and  sat  on  the  other  side.  Nor  did 
there  appear  any  reason  why  the  one  with  the  beard 
should  suddenly  break  off  his  oration,  turn  very  red  in  the 
face,  get  up,  and  walk  slowly  across  the  lawn  to  take  his 
brother's  place.  But  that  is  what  he  did,  and  Cornelius 
took  up  the  running. 

Humphrey  sat  down  beside  Phillis  without  speaking. 
She  noticed  in  him  the  same  characteristics  of  nervous- 
ness as  in  his  brother.  Twice  he  attempted  to  speak,  and 
twice  his  tongue  clave  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth. 

"  He  is  going  to  tell  me  that  Cornelius  adores  me,"  she 
thought. 

It  was  instinct.  That  was  exactly  what  Humphrey — 
the  treacherous  Humphrey— had  determined  on  doing. 
Matrimony,  contemplated  at  close  quarters  and  in  the 
presence  of  the  enemy,  so  to  speak,  lost  all  its  charms. 
Humphrey  thought  of  the  pleasant  life  in  Carnarvon 
Square,  and  determined,  at  the  very  last  moment,  that  if 
either  of  them  was  to  marry  it  should  not  be  himself.  Cor- 
nelius was  the  elder.     Let  him  be  married  first. 

"  You  are  peaceful  and  happy  here,  Miss  Fleming — may 
I  call  you  PhilUs .'"' 


THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  36 1 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Humphrey.  We  are  old  friends,  you 
know.     And  I  am  very  happy  here." 

"  I  am  glad  " — he  sighed  heavily — "  I  am  very  glad  in- 
deed to  hear  that." 

"  Are  you  not  happy,  Mr.  Humphrey  ?  Why  do  you 
look  so  gloomy  ?  And  how  is  the  Great  Picture  getting 
on  ?" 

"  The  *  Birth  of  the  Renaissance '  is  advancing  rapidly 
— rapidly,"  he  said.  "  It  will  occupy  a  canvas  fourteen 
feet  long  by  six  high." 

"  If  you  have  got  the  canvas,  and  the  frame,  and  the 
purchaser,  all  you  want  now  is  the  Picture." 

"  True,  as  you  say,  the  Picture.  It  is  all  that  I  want. 
And  that  is  striding — literally  striding.  /  am  happy,  dear 
Miss  Fleming,  dear  Phillis,  since  I  may  call  you  by  your 
pretty  Christian  name.  It  is  of  my  brother  that  I  think. 
It  is  on  his  account  that  I  feel  unhappy." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him  ?" 

She  tried  very  hard  not  to  laugh,  but  would  not  trust 
herself  to  look  in  his  face.  So  that  he  thought  she  was 
modestly  guessing  his  secret. 

"•  He  is  a  great,  a  noble  fellow.  His  life  is  made  up  of 
sacrifices  and  devoted  to  hard  work.  No  one  works  so 
conscientiously  as  Cornelius,  Now,  at  length  the  prospect 
opens  up,  and  he  will  take  immediately  his  true  position 
among  English  poets." 

"  Indeed,  I  am  glad  of  it," 

"  Thank  you.  Yet  he  is  not  happy.  There  is  a  secret 
sorrow  in  his  life." 

"  Oh,  dear  ! "  Phillis  cried  impatiently,  "  do  let  me 
know  it,  and  at  once.  Was  there  ever  such  a  pair  of  de- 
voted brothers  ?" 

Humphrey  was  disconcerted  for  the  moment,  but  went 
on  again  : 

"  A  secret  which  no  one  has  guessed  but  myself." 

"I  know  what  it  is."     She  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands. 

"  Has  he  told  you,  Phillis  ?    The  secret  of  his  life  is  that 


362  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

my  brother  Cornelius  is  attached  to  you  with  all  the  devo- 
tion of  his  grand  poetic  soul." 

"  Why,  that  was  what  I  thought  you  were  going  to 
say  ! " 

"You  knew  it?"  Humphrey  was  as  solemn  as  an 
eight-day  clock,  while  Phillis's  eyes  danced  with  mirth. 
"  And  you  feel  the  response  of  a  passionate  nature  ?  Ht 
shall  be  your  Petrarch.  You  shall  read  his  very  soul. 
But  Cornelius  brings  you  a  virgin  heart,  a  virgin  heart, 
Phillis  "  (O  Humphrey  !  and  after  what  you  know  about 
Gretchen  !).   "  May  he  hope  that " 

"  Certainly  he  may  hope,  and  so  may  you.  And  now 
we  have  had  quite  enough  of  devotion  and  secrets  and 
great  poetic  souls.     Come,  Mr.  Humphrey." 

She  rose  from  the  grass  and  looked  him  in  the  face, 
laughing.  For  a  moment  the  thought  crossed  the  Artist's 
brain  that  he  had  made  a  mess  of  it  somehow. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  joining  the  other  two,  *'  let  us  have 
some  tea,  and  be  real." 

Neither  of  them  understood  her  desire  to  be  real,  and 
the  Twins  declined  tea.  That  beverage  they  considered 
worthy  only  of  late  breakfast,  and  to  be  taken  as  a  morn- 
ing pick-me-up.  So  they  departed,  taking  leave  with  a 
multitudinous  smile  and  many  tender  hand-pressures.  As 
they  left  the  garden  together  arm-in-arm  they  straightened 
their  backs,  held  up  their  heads,  and  stuck  out  their  legs 
like  the  Knave  of  Spades.  And  they  looked  so  exactly 
like  a  pair  of  triumphant  cocks  that  Phillis  almost  expect- 
ed them  to  crow. 

"Au  revoir"  said  Cornelius,  taking  off  his  hat,  with 
a  whole  wreath  of  smiles,  for  a  final  parting  at  the 
gate. 

"  Sans  dire  adieu"  said  Humphrey,  doing  the  same, 
with  a  light  in  his  eyes  which  played  upon  his  beard  like 
sunshine. 

"  Phillis,  my  dear,"  said  Agatha,  "  they  really  are  the 
mosi  wonderful  pair  I  ever  saw." 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  363 

"They  are  so  funny,"  said  Phillis,  laughing.  "They 
sleep  all  day,  and  when  they  wake  up  they  pretend  to 
have  been  working.  And  they  sit  up  all  night.  And,  O 
Agatha  !  each  one  came  to  me  just  now,  and  told  me  he 
had  a  secret  to  impart  to  me." 
"  What  was  that,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  That  the  other  one  adored  me,  and  might  he  hope  ?" 
"  But,  Phillis,  this  is  beyond  a  joke.     And  actually  here, 
before  my  very  eyes  !  " 

"  I  said  they  might  both  hope.  Though  I  don't  know 
what  they  are  to  hope.  It  seems  to  me  that  if  tiiose  two 
lazy  men,  who  never  do  anything  but  pretend  to  be  ex- 
hausted with  work,  were  only  to  hope  for  anything  at 
all  it  might  wake  them  up  a  little.  And  they  each  said 
that  the  other  would  bring  me  a  virgin  heart,  Agatha. 
What  did  they  mean  ?" 
Agatha  laughed. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  it  is  a  most  uncommon  thing  to  find  in 
a  man  of  fifty,  and  I  should  say,  if  it  were  true,  which  I 
don't  believe,  that  it  argued  extreme  insensibility.  Such 
an  offering  is  desirable  at  five-and-twenty,  bnt  very,  very 
rare,  my  dear  at  any  age.  And  at  their  time  of  life  I 
should  think  that  it  was  like  an  apple  in  May — kept  too 
long,  Phillis,  and  tasting  of  the  straw.  But  then  you  don't 
understand." 

Phillis  thought  that  a  virgin  heart  might  be  one  of  the 
things  to  be  understood  when  the  Coping-stone  was 
achieved,  and  asked  no  more. 

At  the  Richmond  railway-station  the  brothers,  who  had 
not  spoken  a  word  to  each  other  since  leaving  the  house, 
turned  into  the  refreshment-room  by  common  consent  and 
without  consultation.     They  had,  as  usual,  a  brandy-and- 
soda,  and  on  taking  the  glasses  in  their  hands  they  looked 
at  each  other  and  smiled. 
"Cornelius." 
"  Humphrey." 
"  Shall  we  " — the  Artist  dropped  his  voice,  so  that  the 


364  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

attendant  damsel  might  not  hear — "  shall  we  drink  the 
health  and  happiness  of  Phillis  ?" 

"  We  will,  Humphrey,"  replied  the  Poet,  with  enthusi- 
asm. 

When  they  got  into  the  train  and  found  themselves 
alone  in  the  carriage  they  dug  each  other  in  the  ribs  once, 
with  great  meaning. 

"  She  knows,"  said  the  Poet,  with  a  grin  worthy  of 
Mephistopheles,  "that  she  has  found  a  virgin  heart." 

"  She  does,"  said  Humphrey.  "  O  Cornelius,  and  the 
little  Gretchen  and  the  milkpails  ?     Byronic  Rover  !" 

"  Ah,  Humphrey,  shall  I  tell  her  of  the  contadina,  the 
black-eyed  model,  and  the  old  wild  days  in  Rome,  eh  ? 
Don  Giovanni !" 

Then  they  both  laughed,  and  then  they  fell  asleep  in 
the  carriage,  because  it  was  long  past  their  regular  hour 
for  the  afternoon  nap.  and  slept  till  the  guard  took  their 
tickets  at  Vauxhall. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

"  This  fellow's  of  exceeding  honesty. 
And  knows  all  qualities.'' 

IT  was  the  night  of  the  Derby  of  1875.  The  great  race 
had  been  run,  and  the  partisans  of  Galopin  were  tri- 
umphant. Those  who  had  set  their  affections  on  other 
names  had  finished  their  weeping,  because  by  this  time 
lamentation,  especially  among  those  of  the  baser  sort  was 
changed  for  a  cheerful  resignation  begotten  of  much  beer. 
The  busy  road  was  deserted,  save  for  the  tramps  who 
plodded  their  weary  way  homeward;  the  moon,  now  in  its 
third  quarter,  looked  with  sympathetic  eye  upon  the  sleep- 
ing forms  which  dotted  the  silent  downs.  These  lay 
strewn  like  unto  the  bodies  on  a  battle-field — they  lay  in 
rows,  they  lay  singly;  they  were  protected  from  the  night- 
dews  by  canvas  tents,  or  they  were  exposed  to  the  moon- 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  365 

light  and  the  wind.  All  day  long  these  people  had  plied 
the  weary  trade  of  amusing  a  mob;  the  Derby,  when  most 
hearts  are  open,  is  the  harvest-day  of  those  who  play  in- 
struments, those  who  dance,  those  who  tumble,  those  who 
tell  fortunes.  Among  these  honest  artists  sleeps  the 
'prentice  who  is  going  to  rob  the  till  to  pay  his  debt  of 
honour;  the  seedy  betting-man  in  a  drunken  stupor;  the 
boy  who  has  tramped  all  the  way  from  town  to  pick  up  a 
sixpence  somehow;  the  rustic  who  loves  a  race;  and  the 
sharp-fingered  lad  with  the  restless  eye  and  a  pocketful  of 
handkerchiefs.  The  holiday  is  over,  and  few  are  the  heads 
which  will  awake  in  the  morning  clear  and  untroubled 
with  regrets,  remorse,  or  hot  coppers.  It  is  two  in  the 
morning,  and  most  of  the  revellers  are  asleep.  A  few,  still 
awake,  are  at  the  Burleigh  Club;  and  among  these  are 
Gilead  Beck,  Ladds,  and  Jack  Dunquerque. 

They  have  been  to  Epsom.  On  the  course  the  two 
Englishmen  seemed,  not  unnaturally,  to  know  a  good 
many  men.  Some,  whose  voices  were,  oddly  enough, 
familiar  to  Gilead  Beck,  shook  hands  with  him  and 
laughed.  One  voice — it  belonged  to  a  man  in  a  light  coat 
and  a  white  hat — reminded  him  of  Thomas  Carlyle.  The 
owner  of  the  voice  laughed  cheerfully  when  Beck  told 
him  so.  Another  made  him  mindful  of  John  Ruskin. 
And  the  owner  of  that  voice,  too,  laughed  and  changed 
the  subject.  They  were  all  cheerful,  these  friends  of  Jack 
Dunquerque  ;  they  partook  with  affability  of  the  luncheon 
and  drank  freely  of  the  champagne.  Also  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  quiet  betting.  Jack  Dunquerque,  Gilead 
Beck  observed,  was  the  least  adventurous.  Betting  and 
gambling  were  luxuries  which  Jack's  income  would  not 
allow  him.  Most  other  things  he  could  share  in,  but  bet- 
ting was  beyond  him.  Gilead  Beck  plunged  and  won.  It 
was  a  part  of  his  Luck  that  he  should  win  ;  but,  neverthe- 
less, when  Galopin  carried  his  owner's  colours  past  the 
winning-post,  Gilead  gave  a  great  shout  of  triumph,  and 
felt  for  once  the  pleasures  of  the  Turf 


366  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

Now  it  was  all  over.  Jack  and  he  were  together  in  the 
smoking-room,  where  half  a  dozen  lingered.  Ladds  was 
somewhere  in  the  club,  but  not  with  them. 

"  It  was  a  fine  sight,"  said  Gilead  Beck,  on  the  subject 
of  the  race  generally  ;  "  a  fine  sight.  In  the  matter  of 
crowds  you  beat  us  :  that  I  allow.  And  the  horses  were 
good:  that  I  allow  too.  But  let  me  show  you  a  trotting- 
race,  where  [the  sweet  little  winner  goes  his  measured 
mile  in  two  minutes  and  a  half.  That  seems  to  me  better 
sport.  But  the  Derby  is  a  fine  race,  and  I  admit  it. 
When  I  go  back  to  America,"  he  went  on,  "  I  shall  insti- 
tute races  of  my  own — with  a  great  National  Dunquerque 
Cup — and  we  will  have  an  American  Derby,  with  trotting 
thrown  in.  There's  room  for  both  sports.  What  do 
you  think,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  of  having  sports  from  all 
countries?" 

"  Seems  a  bright  idea.  Take  your  bull-fights  from 
Spain  ;  your  fencing  from  France  ;  your  racing  from 
England — what  will  you  have  from  Germany  ?" 

Playing  at  soldiers,  I  guess.  They  don't  seem  to  care 
for  any  other  game." 

"And  Russia?" 

**  A  great  green  table  with  a  pack  of  cards  and  a  rou- 
lette. We  can  get  a  few  Egyptian  bonds  for  the  Greeks  to 
exhibit  their  favourite  game  with.  We  may  import  a  band 
of  brigands  for  the  Italian  sports.  Imitation  murder  will 
represent  Turkish  Delights,  and  the  performers  shall 
camp  in  Central  Park.  It  wouldn't  be  bad  fun  to  go 
out  at  night  and  hunt  them.  Say,  Mr.  Dunquerque, 
we'll  do  it.  A  permanent  Exhibition  of  the  Amuse- 
ments of  all  Nations.  You  shall  come  over  if  you 
like,  and  show  them  English  fox-hunting.  Where  is 
Captain  Ladds  ?" 

**  I  left  him  hovering  round  the  card-tables.  I  will 
bring  him  up." 

Presently  Jack  returned. 

"Ladds  is  hard   at  work  at  ecarte  with  a  villainous- 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  367 

looking  stranger.  And  I  should  think,  from  the  way 
Tommy  is  sticking  at  it,  that  Tommy  is  dropping  pretty 
heavily." 

"  It's  an  American  he's  playing  with,"  said  one  of  the 
other  men  in  the  room.  "  Don't  know  who  brought  him; 
not  a  member  ;  a  Major  Hamilton  Ruggles — don't  know 
what  service." 

Mr.  Beck  looked  up  quietly,  and  reflected  a  moment. 
Then  he  said  softly  to  Jack 

"  Mr.  Dunquerque,  I  think  we  can  have  a  little  amuse- 
ment out  of  this.  If  you  were  to  go  now  to  Captain 
Ladds,  and  if  you  were  to  bring  him  up  to  this  same  iden- 
tical room  with  Major  Hamilton  Ruggles,  I  think,  sir, — I 
do  think  you  would  see  something  pleasant." 

There  was  a  sweet  and  winning  smile  on  the  face  of 
Mr.  Beck  when  he  spoke  these  words.  Jack  immediately 
understood  that  there  was  going  to  be  a  row,  and  went  at 
once  on  his  errand,  in  order  to  promote  it  to  the  best  of 
his  power. 

"  You  know  Major  Ruggles  ?"  asked  the   first  speaker. 

"  No,  sir,  no  -  I  can  hardly  say  that  I  know  Major  Rug- 
gles.    But  I  think  he  knows  me." 

In  ten  minutes  Ladds  and  his  adversary  at  ecarte  came 
upstairs.  Ladds  wore  the  heavy  impenetrable  look  in 
which,  as  in  a  mask,  he  always  played;  the  other,  who  had 
a  limp  in  one  leg  and  a  heavy  scar  across  his  face,  came 
with  him.  He  was  laughing  in  a  high-pitched  voice. 
After  them  came  Jack. 

At  sight  of  Mr.  Beck,  Major  Ruggles  stopped  sud- 
denly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Captain  Ladds,"  he  said.  "  I  find 
I  have  forgotten  my  handkerchief." 

He  turned  to  go.  But,  Jack,  the  awkward,  was  in  his 
way. 

"  Handkerchief  sticking  out  of  your  pocket,"  said 
Ladds. 

"  So  it  is,  so  it  is  !" 


368  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

By  a  sort  of  instinct  the  half-dozen  men  in  the  smoking- 
room  seemed  to  draw  their  chairs  and  to  close  in  to- 
gether.    There  was  evidently  something  going  to  happen. 

Mr.  Beck  rose  solemnly — surely  nobody  ever  had  so 
grave  a  face  as  Gilead  P.  Beck — and  advanced  to  Major 
Ruggles. 

"  Major  Ruggles,"  he  said,  "  I  gave  you  to  understand, 
two  days  ago,  that  I  didn't  remember  you.  I  found  out 
afterwards  that  I  was  wrong.  I  remember  you  perfectly 
well." 

"  You  used  words,  Mr.  Beck,  which  " 

"  Ay,  ay — I  know.  You  want  satisfaction,  Major.  You 
shall  have  it.  Sit  down  now,  sit  down,  sir.  We  are  all 
among  gentlemen  here,  and  this  is  a  happy  meeting  for 
both  of  us.  What  will  you  drink  ? — I  beg  your  pardon, 
Mr.  Dunquerque,  but  I  thought  we  were  at  the  Langham. 
Perhaps  you  would  yourself  ask  Major  Ruggles  what  he 
will  put  himself  outside  of  ?" 

The  Major,  who  did  not  seem  quite  at  his  ease,  took  a 
seltzer-and-brandy  and  a  cigarette.  Then  he  looked  fur- 
tively at  Gilead  Beck.  He  understood  what  the  man  was 
going  to  say  and  why  he  was  going  to  say  it. 

"  Satisfaction,  Major  ?  Wal,  these  gentlemen  shall  be 
witnesses.  Yesterday  mornin',  as  I  was  walkin'  down  the 
steps  of  the  Langham  Hotel,  this  gentleman,  this  high- 
toned,  whole-souled  pride  of  the  American  army,  met  me 
and  offered  his  hand.  *  Hope  you  are  well,  Mr.  Beck,' 
were  his  affable  words,  *  Hope  you  are  quite  well.  Met 
you  last  at  Delmonico's,  in  with  Boss  Calderon.'  Now, 
gentlemen,  you'll  hardly  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  I  an- 
swered this  politeness  by  askin'  the  Major  if  he  had  ever 
heard  of  a  Banco  Steerer,  and  if  he  knew  the  meanin'  of 
a  Roper.  He  did  not  reply,  doubtless  because  he  was 
wounded  in  his  feelin's — being  above  all  things  a  man  of 
honour  and  the  boast  of  his  native  country.  I  then  left 
him  with  a  Scriptural  reference,  which  p'r'aps  he's  over- 
hauled since,  and  now  understands  what  I  meant  when  I 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  369 

said  that,  if  I  was  to  meet  him  goin'  around  arm-in-arm 
with  Ananias  and  Sapphira,  I'd  say  he  was  in  good  com- 
pany.' 

Here  the  Major  jumped  in  his  chair,  and  put  his  right 
hand  to  his  shirt-front. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Beck,  unmoved.  "  I  can  tackle  more'n 
one  wild  cat  at  once,  if  you  mean  fightin,'  which  you 
do  not.  And  it's  no  use,  no  manner  o'  use,  feelin'  in  that 
breast-pocket  of  yours,  because  the  shootin'  irons  in  this 
country  are  always  left  at  home.  You  sit  still.  Major, 
and  take  it  quiet.  I'm  goin'  to  be  more  improvin' 
presently." 

"  Perhaps,  Beck,"  said  Jack,  "  you  would  explain  what 
a  Banco  Steerer  and  a  Roper  are." 

"  I  was  comin'  to  that,  sir.  They  air  one  and  the  same 
animal.  The  Roper  or  the  Banco  Steerer,  gentlemen,  will 
find  you  out  the  morning  after  you  land  in  Chicago  or 
Saint  Louis.  He  will  accost  you — very  friendly,  wonder- 
ful friendly — when  you  come  out  of  your  hotel,  by  your 
name,  and  he  will  remind  you — which  is  most  surprising, 
considerin'  you  never  set  eyes  on  his  face  before — how  you 
have  dined  together  in  Cincinnati,  or  it  may  be  Orleans, 
or  perhaps  Francisco,  because  he  finds  out  where  you  came 
from  last.  And  he  will  shake  hands  with  you  :  and  he 
will  propose  a  drink;  and  he  will  pay  for  that  drink. 
And  presently  he  will  take  you  somewhere  else,  among 
his  pals,  and  he  will  strip  you  so  clean  that  there  won't 
be  left  the  price  of  a  four  cent  paper  to  throw  around 
your  face  and  hide  your  blushes.  In  London,  gentlemen, 
they  do,  I  believe,  the  confidence  trick.  Perhaps  Major 
Ruggles  will  explain  his  own  method  presently." 

But  Major  Ruggles  preserved  silence. 

**  So,  gentlemen,  after  I'd  shown  my  familiarity  with  the 
Ax  of  the  Apostles,  I  went  down  town,  thinkin'  how 
mighty  clever  I  was — that's  a  way  of  mine,  gentlemen, 
which  generally  takes  me  after  I've  made  a  durned  fool  of 
myself.     All  of  a  sudden  I   recollected  the  face  of  Major 


37©  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

Ruggles,  and  where  I'd  seen  him  last.  Yes,  Major,  you 
did  know  me — you  were  quite  right,  and  I  ought  to  have 
kept  Ananias  out  of  the  muss — you  did  know  me,  and  I'd 
forgotten  it.  Those  words  of  mine.  Major,  required  ex- 
planation, as  you  said  just  now." 

"  Satisfaction,  I  said,"  objected  the  Major,  trying  to  re- 
cover himself  a  little. 

"  Sir,  you  air  a  whole-souled  gentleman  ;  and  your 
sense  of  honour  is  as  keen  as  a  quarter-dollar  razor.  Satis- 
faction you  shall  have  ;  and  if  you  are  not  satisfied  when 
I  have  done  with  you,  ask  these  gentlemen  around  what 
an  American  nobleman — one  of  the  noblemen  like  your- 
self that  we  do  sometimes  show  the  world — wants  more, 
and  the  more  you  shall  git. 

"  You  did  know  me.  Major  ;  but  you  made  a  little  mis- 
take. It  was  not  with  Boss  Calderon  that  you  met  me, 
because  I  do  not  know  Boss  Calderon  ;  nor  was  it 
at  Delmonico's.  And  where  it  was  I  am  about  to  tell 
this  company." 

He  hesitated  a  moment. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  believe  it  is  a  rule  that  strangers  in  your 
clubs  must  be  introduced  by  members.  I  was  introduced 
by  my  friend  Mr.  Dunquerque,  and  I  hope  I  shall  not  dis- 
grace that  introduction.  May  I  ask  who  introduced  Major 
Ruggles  ?" 

Nobody  knew.  In  fact,  he  had  passed  in  with  an 
acquaintance  picked  up  somehow,  and  stayed  there. 

The  Major  tried  again  to  get  away.  "This  is  fooling," 
he  said.  "  Captain  Ladds,  do  )-ou  wish  me  to  be  insulted  ? 
If  you  do,  sir,  say  so.  You  will  find  that  an  American 
officer  " 

*'  Silence,  sir  !  "  said  Mr.  Beck.  "  An  American  officer  ! 
Say  that  again,  and  I  will  teach  you  to  respect  the  name 
of  an  American  officer.  I've  been  a  private  soldier  myself 
in  that  army,"  he  added,  by  way  of  explanation.  "  Now, 
Major  Ruggles,  I  am  going  to  invite  you  to  remain  while 
I  tell  these  gentlemen  a  little  jjtory — a  very  little  story — 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  371 

but  it  concerns  you.  And  if  Captain  Ladds  likes  when 
that  story  is  finished,  I  will  apologise  to  you,  and  to  him, 
and  to  all  this  honourable  company." 

"  Let  us  hear  the  story,"  said  Jack.  "  Nothing  could  be 
fairer." 

"  Nothing  !  "  echoed  the  little  circle  of  listeners. 
Beck  addressed  the  room  in  general,  occasionally  point- 
ing the  finger  of  emphasis  at  the  unfortunate  Major.  His 
victim  showed  every  sign  of  bodily  discomfort  and  mental 
agitation.  First  he  fidgeted  in  the  chair  ;  then  he  threw 
away  his  cigarette  ;  then  he  folded  his  arms  and  stared 
defiantly  at  the  speaker.     Then  he  got  up  again. 

"  What  have  I  to  do  with  you  and  your  story  ?  Let  me 
go.  Captain  Ladds,  you  have  my  address.  And  as  for 
you,  sir,  you  shall  hear  from  me  to-morrow." 

"  Sit  down.  Major."  Gilead  Beck  invited  him  to  resume 
his  chair  with  a  sweet  smile.  "  Sit  down.  The  night's 
young.     May  be  Captain  Ladds  wants  his  revenge." 

"  Not  I,"  said  Ladds.  "  Had  enough.  Go  to  bed.  Not 
a  revengeful  man." 

"  Then,"  said  Gilead  Beck,  his  face  darkening  and  his 
manner  suddenly  changing,  "  I  will  take  your  revenge  for 
you.     Sit  down,  sir  !  " 

It  was  an  order  he  gave  this  time,  not  an  invitation, 
and  the  stranger  obeyed  with  an  uneasy  smile. 

"  It  is  not  gambling.  Major  Ruggles,"  Beck  went  on. 
"  Captain  Ladds'  revenge  is  going  to  be  of  another  sort, 
I  reckon." 

He  drew  close  to  Major  Ruggles,  and  sitting  on  the 
table,  placed  one  foot  on  a  chair  which  was  between  the 
stranger  and  the  door. 

"  Delmonico's,  was  it,  where  we  met  last  ?  And  with 
Joe  Calderon — Boss  Calderon  ?  Really,  Major  Ruggles, 
I  was  a  great  fool  not  to  remember  that  at  once.  But  I 
always  am  weak  over  faces,  even  such  a  striking  face  as 
yours.  So  we  met  last  when  you  were  dining  with  Boss 
Calderon,  eh  ?" 


372  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

Then  Mr.  Beck  began  his  little  story. 

"  Six  years  ago,  gentlemen, — long  before  I  found  my 
Butterfly,  of  which  you  may  have  heard, — I  ran  up  and 
down  the  Great  Pacific  Railway  between  Chicago  and 
Francisco  for  close  upon  six  months.  I  did  not  choose 
that  way  of  spendin'  the  golden  hours,  because,  if  one  had 
a  choice  at  all,  a  Pullman's  sleeping-car  on  the  Pacific 
Railway  would  be  just  one  of  the  last  places  you  would 
choose  to  pass  your  life  in.  I  should  class  it,  as  a  perma- 
nent home,  with  a  first-class  saloon  in  a  Cunard  steamer. 
No,  gentlemen,  I  was  on  board  those  cars  in  an  official 
capacity.  I  was  conductor.  It  is  not  a  proud  position, 
not  an  office  which  you  care  to  magnify  ;  it  doesn't  lift 
your  chin  in  the  air  and  stick  out  your  toes  like  the  proud 
title  of  Major  does  for  our  friend  squirmin'  in  the  chair 
before  us.  Squirm  on.  Major  ;  but  listen,  because  this  is 
interestin'.  On  those  cars  and  on  that  railway  there  is  a 
deal  of  time  to  be  got  through.  I  am  bound  to  say  that 
time  kind  of  hangs  heavy  on  the  hands.  You  can't  be 
always  outside  smokin' ;  you  can't  sleep  more'n  a  certain 
time,  because  the  nigger  turns  you  out  and  folds  up  the 
beds  ;  and  you  oughtn't  to  drink  more'n  your  proper 
whack.  Also,  you  get  tired  watchin'  the  scenery.  You 
may  make  notes  if  you  like,  but  you  get  tired  o'  that. 
And  you  get  mortal  tired  of  settin'  on  end.  Mostly, 
therefore,  you  stand  around  the  conductor,  and  you  listen 
to  his  talk. 

"  But  six  years  ago  the  dullness  of  that  long  journey 
was  enlivened  by  the  presence  of  a  few  sportsmen  like 
our  friend  the  Major  here.  They  were  so  fond  of  the 
beauties  of  Nature,  they  were  so  wrapped  up  in  the  pride 
of  bein'  American  citizens  and  ownin'  the  biggest  railway 
in  the  world,  that  they  would  travel  all  the  way  from  New 
York  to  San  Francisco,  stay  there  a  day,  and  then  travel 
all  the  way  back  again.  And  the  most  remarkable  thing 
was,  that  when  they  got  to  New  York  again  they  would 
take  a  through  ticket  all  the  way  back  to  San  Fran.    This 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  373 

attachment  to  the  line  pleased  the  company  at  first.  It 
did  seem  as  if  good  deeds  was  going  to  meet  their  recom- 
pense at  last,  even  in  this  world,  and  the  spirited  conduct 
of  the  gentlemen,  when  it  first  became  known,  filled 
everybody  with  admiration. — You  remember,  Major,  the 
very  handsome  remarks  made  by  you  yourself  on  the 
New  York  platform. 

"  Lord,  is  it  six  years  ago  ?  Why,  it  seems  to  me  but 
yesterday,  Major  Ruggles,  that  I  saw  you  standin'  erect 
and  bold — lookin'  like  a  senator  in  a  stove  pipe  hat,  store 
boots,  and  go  to-meetin'  coat — shakin'  hands  with  the 
chairman.  *  Sir,'  you  said,  with  tears  in  your  eyes,  'you 
represent  the  advance  of  civilisation.  We  air  now,  indeed, 
ahead  of  the  hull  creation.  You  have  united  the  Pacific 
and  the  Atlantic.  And,  sir,  by  the  iron  road  the  West 
and  the  East  may  jine  hands  and  defy  the  tyranny  of 
Europe.'  Those,  gentlemen,  were  the  noble  sentiments 
of  Major  Hamilton  Ruggles. — Did  I  say.  Major,  that  I 
would  give  you  satisfaction  ?  Wait  till  I  have  done,  and 
you  shall  bust  with  satisfaction." 

The  Major  did  not  look,  at  all  events,  like  being  satis- 
fied so  far. 

"  One  day  an  ugly  rumor  got  about — you  know  how 
rumours  spread — that  the  Great  Pacific  Railroad  was  a  big 
gamblin'  shop.  The  enthusiastic  travellers  up  and  down 
that  line  were  one  mighty  confederated  gang.  They  were 
up  to  every  dodge:  they  travelled  together,  and  they  trav- 
elled separate  ;  they  had  dice,  and  those  dice  were  loaded; 
they  had  cards,  and  those  cards  were  marked;  they  played 
on  the  square,  but  behind  every  man's  hand  was  a 
confederate,  and  he  gave  signs,  so  that  the  honest 
sportsman  knew  how  to  play.  And  by  these  simple  con- 
trivances, gentlemen,  they  always  won.  So  much  did  they 
win,  that  I  have  conducted  a  through  train  in  which,  when 
we  got  to  Chicago,  there  wasn't  a  five-dollar  piece  left 
among  the  lot.  And  all  the  time  strangers  to  each  other. 
The  gang  never,  by  so  much  as  a  wink,  let  out  that  they 


374  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

had  met  before.  And  no  one  could  tell  them  from  ordi- 
nary passengers.  But  I  knew;  and  I  had  a  long  conver- 
sation with  the  Directors  one  day,  the  result  of  which — 
Major  Ruggles,  perhaps  you  can  tell  these  gentleaien 
what  v,'as  the  result  of  that  conversation," 

The  man  was  sallow.  His  sharp  eyes  gleamed  with  an 
angry  light  as  he  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  as  if  in  the 
hope  of  finding  an  associate.  There  was  none.  Only 
Ladds,  his  adversary,  moved  quietly  around  the  room  and 
sat  near  to  Gilead  Beck,  on  the  table,  but  nearer  the  door. 
The  Major  saw  this  manoeuvre  with  a  sinking  heart,  be- 
cause his  pockets  were  heavy  with  the  proceeds  of  the 
evening  game. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  a  general  order  came  for  all  the  con- 
ductors. It  was  *  No  play.'  We  were  to  stop  that.  And 
another  general  order  was — an  imperative  order.  Major, 
so  that  I  am  sure  you  will  not  bear  malice — '  If  they  won't 
leave  off,  chuck  'em  out.'  That  was  the  order.  Major, 
*  Chuck  'em  out.' 

"  It  was  on  the  journey  back  from  San  Francisco  that 
the  first  trouble  began.  You  were  an  upright  man  to 
look  at  then.  Major;  you  hadn't  got  the  limp  you've  got 
now,  and  you  hadn't  received  that  unfort'nate  scar  across 
your  handsome  face.  You  were  a  most  charmin'  com- 
panion for  a  long  railway  journey,  but  you  had  that  little 
weakness — that  you  would  play.  I  warned  you  at  the 
time.  I  said,  "  Cap'en,  this  must  stop.'  You  were  only  a 
Cap'en  then.  But  you  would  go  on.  '  Cap'en,'  I  said,  '  if 
you  will  not  stop,  you  will  be  chucked  out.*  You  will  ac- 
knowledge. Major,  that  I  gave  you  fair  warnin'.  You 
laughed.  That  was  all  you  did.  You  laughed  and  you 
shuffled  the  cards.  But  the  man  who  was  playing  with 
you  got  up.  He  saw  reason.  Then  you  drew  out  a  re- 
volver and  used  bad  language.     So  I  made  for  you. 

"  Gentlemen,  it  was  not  a  fair  fight.  But  orders  had  to 
be  observed.  In  half  a  minute  I  had  his  pistol  from  him, 
and  in  two  minutes  more  he  was  fiyin'  from  the  end  of  the 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  375 

train.  We  were  goin'  twenty  miles  an  hour,  and  we  hadn't 
time  to  stop  to  see  if  he  was  likely  to  get  along  somehow. 
And  the  last  I  saw  of  Captain  Ruggles — I  beg  your  par- 
don, Major — was  his  two  heels  in  the  air  as  he  left  the  end 
of  the  train.  I  s'pose,  Major,  it  was  stoppin'  so  sudden 
gave  you  that  limp  and  ornamented  your  face  with  that 
beautiful  scar.     The  ground  was  gritty,  I  believe  ?" 

Everybody's  eyes  were  turned  on  the  Major,  whose 
face  was  livid. 

"  Gentlemen,"  Mr.  Beck  continued,  "  that  gerial  flight 
of  Captain  Ruggles  improved  the  moral  tone  of  the  Pacific 
Railroad  to  a  degree  that  you  would  hardly  believe,  I 
don't  think  there  has  been  a  single  sportsman  chucked 
out  since.  Major  Ruggles,  sir,  you  were  the  blessed 
means,  under  Providence  and  Gilead  P.  Beck  conjointly, 
of  commencing  a  new  and  moral  era  for  the  Great  Pacific 
Railroad. 

"  And   now,  Major,  that  my  little   story  is  told,  may  I 
ask  if  you  air  satisfied  ?     Because  if  there  is  any  other  sat- 
isfaction in  my  power   you  shall   have  that  too.     Have  I 
done  enough  for  honour,  gentlemen  all  ?" 
The  men  laughed. 

"  Now  for  a  word  with  me,"  Ladds  began. 
"Cap'en,/  said  Gilead  Beck,  "let me  work  through  this 
contract,  if  you  have  no  objection — Major  Ruggles,  you 
will  clear  out  all  your  pockets." 
The  miserable  man  made  no  reply. 
"  Clear  out  every  one,  and  turn  them  inside  out,  right 
away." 

"  He  neither  moved  nor  spoke. 

"  Gentlemen,"  Mr.  Beck  said  calmly,  "you  will  be  kind 
enough  not  to  interfere." 

He  pulled  a  penknife  out  of  his  pocket  and  laid  it  on  a 
chair  open.  He  then  seized  Major  Ruggles  by  the  collar 
and  arm.  The  man  fought  like  a  wild  cat,  but  Beck's 
grasp  was  like  a  vice.  It  seemed  incredable  to  the  by- 
standers that  a  man  should  be  so  strong,  so  active,  and  so 


37^  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

skilled.  He  tossed,  rather  than  laid,  his  victim  on  the 
table,  and  then,  holding  both  his  hands  in  one  grip  of  his 
own  enormous  fist,  he  deliberately  ripped  open  the  Major's 
trousers,  waistcoat,  and  coat  pockets,  and  took  out  the 
contents.  When  he  was  satisfied  that  nothing  more  was 
left  in  them  he  dragged  him  to  the  ground. 

On  the  table  lay  the  things  which  he  had  taken  posses- 
sion of. 

"Take  up  those  dice,"  he  said  to  Ladds;  "Try  them; 
if  they  are  not  loaded,  I  will  ask  the  Major's  pardon." 

They  were  loaded. 

"  Look  at  these  cards,"  he  went  on.  "  They  are  the 
cards  you  have  been  playing  with,  when  you  thought  you 
had  a  new  pack  of  club-cards.  If  they  are  not  marked,  I 
will  ask  the  Major  to  change  places  with  me." 

They  were  marked. 

"  And  now,  gentlemen,  I  think  I  may  ask  Captain 
Ladds  what  he  has  lost,  and  invite  him  to  take  it  out  of 
that  heap." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  assent. 

"  I  lost  twenty  pounds  in  notes  and  gold,"  said  Ladds. 
"  And  I  gave  an  I  O  U  for  sixty  more." 

There  were  other  I  O  U's  in  the  heap,  and  more  gold 
when  Ladds  had  recovered  his  own.  The  paper  was 
solemnly  torn  up,  but  the  coin  restored  to  the  Major,  who 
now  stood,  abject,  white,  and  trembling,  but  with  the  look 
of  a  devil  in  his  eyes. 

"  Such  men  as  you,  Major,"  said  Gilead  the  Moralist, 
"  air  the  curse  of  our  country.  You  see,  gentlemen,  we 
travel  about,  we  make  money  fast;  we  air  sometimes  a 
reckless  lo^;  the  miners  have  got  pockets  full;  there's 
everything  to  encourage  such  a  crew  as  Major  Ruggles 
belonged  to.  And  when  we  find  them  out,  we  lynch  them. 
— Lynch  is  the  word,  isn't  it.  Major  ? — do  you  want  to 
know  the  end  of  this  man,  gentlemen  ?  I  am  not  much  in 
the  prophetic  line,  but  I  think  I  see  a  crowd  of  men  in  a 
minin'  city,  and  I  see  a  thick  branch  with  a  rope  over  it. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  377 

And  at  the  end  of  that  rope  is  Major  Ruggles's  neck, 
tightened  in  a  most  unpleasant  and  ungentlemanly  manner. 
— It's  inhospitable,  but  what  can  you  expect,  Major  ?  We 
like  play,  but  we  like  playin'  on  the  square.  Now,  Major, 
you  may  go.  And  you  may  thank  the  Lord  on  your  knees 
before  you  go  to  sleep  that  this  providential  interference 
has  taken  place  in  London  instead  of  the  States.  For  had 
I  told  my  interestin'  anecdote  at  a  bar  in  any  city  of  the 
Western  States,  run  up  you  would  have  been.  You  may 
go.  Major  Ruggles;  and  I  daresay  Cap'en  Ladds,  in  con- 
sideration of  the  damage  done  to  those  bright  and  shinin' 
store  clothes  of  yours,  will  forego  the  British  kicking 
which  I  see  tremblin'  at  the  point  of  his  toes. 

Ladds  did  forego  that  revenge,  and  the  Major  slunk 
away. 


CHAPTER    XXXIL 

"  Nulla  fere  caasa  est  in  qua  non  femina  litem 
Moverit." 

WHEN  Mr.  Wylie,  the  pamphleteer,  left  Gabriel 
Cassilis,  the  latter  resumed  with  undisturbed 
countenance  his  previous  occupation  of  reading  the  letters 
and  telegrams  he  had  laid  aside.  Among  them  was  one 
which  he  took  up  gingerly,  as  if  it  were  a  torpedo. 

"  Pshaw  !"  he  cried  impatiently,  tossing  it  from  him. 
•*  Another  of  those  anonymous  letters.  The  third."  He 
looked  at  it  with  disgust,  and  then  half  involuntarily  his 
hand  reached  out  and  took  it  up  again.  "  The  third,  and 
all  in  the  same  handwriting.  *  I  have  written  you  two 
letters,  and  you  have  taken  no  notice.  This  is  the  third. 
Beware  !  Your  wife  was  with  Mr.  Colquhoun  yesterday; 
she  will  be  with  him  again  to-day  and  to-morrow.  Ask 
her,  if  you  dare,  what  is  her  secret  with  him.  Ask  him 
what  hold  he  has  over  her.  Watch  her,  and  caution  her 
lest  something  evil  befall  you. — Your  well-wisher.' 


37^  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  1  am  a  fool,"  he  said,  '  to  be  disquieted  about  an 
anonymous  slander.  What  does  it  matter  to  me  ?  As  if 
Victoria — she  did  know  Colquhoun  before  her  marriage — 
their  names  were  mentioned — I  remember  hearing  that 
there  had  been  flirtation — flirtation  !  As  if  Victoria  could 
ever  flirt !  She  was  no  frivolous  silly  girl.  No  one  who 
knows  Victoria  could  for  a  moment  suspect — suspect ! 
The  word  is  intolerable.     One  would  say  I  was  jealous." 

He  pushed  forward  his  papers  and  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  casting  his  thoughts  behind  him  to  the  days  of  his 
stiff  and  formal  wooing.  He  remembered  how  he  said, 
sitting  opposite  to  her  in  her  cousin's  drawing-room — 
there  was  no  wandering  by  the  river-bank  or  in  pleasant 
gardens  on  summer  evenings  for  those  two  lovers — 

"You  bring  me  fewer  springs  than  I  can  offer  you, 
Victoria  ;"  which  was  his  pretty  poetical  way  of  telling 
her  that  he  was  nearly  forty  years  older  than  herself : 
"but  we  shall  begin  life  with  no  trammels  of  previous 
attachments  on  either  hand." 

He  called  it — and  thought  it — at  sixty-five,  beginning 
life  ;  and  it  was  quite  true  that  he  had  never  before  con- 
ceived an  attachment  for  any  woman. 

"No,  Mr.  Cassilis,"  she  replied;  "we  are  both  free, 
quite  free  ;  and  the  disparity  of  age  is  only  a  disadvantage 
on  my  side,  which  a  few  years  will  remedy." 

This  cold  stately  woman  conducting  a  flirtation  before 
her  marriage  ?  This  Juno  among  young  matrons  causing 
a  scandal  after  her  marriage  ?     It  was  ridiculous. 

He  said  to  himself  that  it  was  ridiculous  so  often,  that 
he  succeeded  at  last  in  persuading  himself  that  it  really 
was.  And  when  he  had  quite  done  that,  he  folded  up  the 
anonymous  document,  docketed  it,  and  placed  it  in  one 
of  the  numerous  pigeon-holes  of  his  desk,  which  was  one 
of  those  which  shut  up  completely,  covering  over  papers, 
pigeon- holes,  and  everything. 

Then  he  addressed  himself  again  to  business,  and,  but 
for  an  occasional  twinge  of  uneasiness,  like  the  first  throb 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  379 

which  presages  the  coming  gout,  he  got  through  an  im- 
portant day's  work  with  his  accustomed  ease  and  power. 

The  situation,  as  Lawrence  Colquhoun  told  Victoria, 
was  strained.  There  they  were,  as  he  put  it,  all  three — 
himself,  for  some  reason  of  his  own,  put  first ;  the  lady  ; 
and  Gabriel  Cassilis.  The  last  was  the  one  who  did  not 
know.  There  was  no  reason,  none  in  the  world,  why 
things  should  not  remain  as  they  were,  only  that  the  lady 
would  not  let  sleeping  dangers  sleep,  and  Lawrence  was 
too  indolent  to  resist.  In  other  words,  Victoria  Cassilis, 
having  once  succeeded  in  making  him  visit  her,  spared  no 
pains  to  bring  him  constantly  to  her  house,  and  to  make 
it  seem  as  if  he  was  that  innocent  sort  of  cicisbeo  whom 
English  society  allows. 
Why? 

The  investigation  of  motives  is  a  delicate  thing  at  the 
best,  and  apt  to  lead  the  analyst  into  strange  paths.  It 
may  be  discovered  that  the  philanthropist  acts  for  love  of 
notoriety  ;  that  the  preacher  does  not  believe  in  the  truths 
he  proclaims  ;  that  the  woman  of  self-sacrifice  and  good 
works  is  consciously  posing  before  an  admiring  world. 
This  is  disheartening,  because  it  makes  the  cynic  and  the 
worldly-minded  man  to  chuckle  and  chortle  with  an  open 
joy.  St.  Paul,  who  was  versed  in  the  ways  of  the  world, 
knew  this  perfectly  when  he  proclaimed  the  insufficiency 
of  good  works.  It  is  at  all  times  best  to  accept  the  deed, 
and  never  ask  the  motive.  And,  after  all,  good  deeds 
are  something  practical.  And  as  for  a  foolish  or  a  bad 
deed,  the  difficulty  of  ascertaining  an  adequate  motive 
only  becomes  more  complicated  with  its  folly  or  its  vil- 
lainy. Mrs.  Cassilis  had  everything  to  gain  by  keeping  her 
old  friend  on  the  respectful  level  of  a  former  acquaint- 
ance ;  she  had  everything  to  lose  by  treating  him  as  a 
friend.     And  yet  she  forced  her  friendship  upon  him. 

Kindly  people  who  find  in  the  affairs  of  other  people 
sufficient  occupation  for  themselves,  and  Avhose  activity 


380  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

of  intellect  obtains  a  useful  vent  in  observation  and  com- 
raent,  watched  them.  The  man  was  always  the  same  ; 
indolent,  careless,  unmoved  by  any  kind  of  passion  for 
any  other  man's  wife  or  for  any  maid.  That  was  a  just 
conclusion,  Lawrence  Colquhoun  was  not  in  love  with 
this  lady.  And  yet  he  suffered  himself  to  obey  orders  ; 
dropped  easily  in  the  position  ;  allowed  himself  to  be  led 
by  her  invitations  ;  went  where  she  told  him  to  go  ;  and 
all  the  time  half  laughed  at  himself  and  was  half 
angry  to  think  that  he  was  thus  enthralled  by  a  siren  who 
charmed  him  not.  To  have  once  loved  a  woman  ;  to  love 
her  no  longer  ;  to  go  about  the  town  behaving  as  if  you 
did  :  this,  it  was  evident  to  him,  was  not  a  position  to  be 
envied  or  desired.  Few  false  positions  are.  Pephaps  he 
did  not  know  that  Mrs.  Grundy  talked  ;  perhaps  he  was 
only  amused  when  he  heard  of  remarks  that  had  been 
made  by  Sir  Benjamin  Backbite  ;  and  although  the  brief 
sunshine  of  passion  which  he  only  felt  for  this  woman  was 
long  since  past  and  gone,  nipped  in  its  very  bud  by  the 
lady  herself  perhaps,  he  still  liked  her  cold  and  cynical 
talk.  Colquhoun  habitually  chose  the  most  pleasant  paths 
for  his  lounge  through  life.  From  eighteen  to  forty  there 
had  been  but  one  disagreeable  episode,  which  he  would 
fain  have  forgotten.  Mrs.  Cassilis  revived  it  ;  but,  in 
her  presence,  the  memory  was  robbed  somehow  of  half  its 
sting. 

Sir  Benjamin  Backbite  remarked  that  though  the  gentle- 
man was  languid,  the  lady  was  shaken  out  of  her  habitual 
coldness.  She  was  changed.  What  could  change  her, 
asked  the  Baronet,  but  passion  for  this  old  friend  of  her 
youth  ?  Why,  it  was  only  four  years  since  he  had  followed 
her,  after  a  London  season,  down  to  Scotland,  and  every- 
body said  it  would  be  a  match.  She  received  his  atten- 
tions coldly  then,  as  she  received  the  attentions  of  every 
man.  Now  the  tables  were  turned  ;  it  was  the  man  who 
was  cold. 

These   social   observers  are   always   right.     But   they 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  ^Sl 

never  rise  out  of  themselves  ;  therefore  their  conclusions 
are  generally  wrong.  Victoria  Cassilis  was  not,  as  they 
charitably  thought,  running  after  Colquhoun  through  the 
fancy  of  a  wayward  heart.  Not  at  all.  She  was  simply 
wondering  where  it  had  gone — that  old  power  of  hers,  by 
which  she  once  twisted  him  round  her  finger — and  why  it 
was  gone.  A  woman  cannot  believe  that  she  has  lost  her 
power  over  a  man.  It  is  an  intolerable  thought.  Her 
power  is  born  of  her  beauty  and  her  grace  ;  these  may 
vanish,  but  the  old  attractiveness  remains,  she  thinks,  if 
only  as  a  tradition.  When  she  is  no  longer  beautiful  she 
loves  to  believe  that  her  lovers  are  faithful  still.  Now 
Victoria  Cassilis  remembered  this  man  as  a  lover  and  a 
slave  ;  his  was  the  only  pleading  she  had  ever  heard  which 
could  make  her  understand  the  meaning  of  man's  passion; 
he  was  the  only  suitor  whom  a  word  could  make  wretched 
or  a  look  happy.  For  he  had  once  loved  her  with  all  his 
power  and  all  his  might.  Between  them  there  was  the 
knowledge  of  a  thing  which,  if  any  knowledge  could, 
should  have  crushed  out  and  beaten  down  the  memory  of 
this  love.  She  had  made  it,  by  her  own  act  and  deed,  a 
crime  to  remember  it.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all,  she  could 
not  bring  herself  to  remember  that  the  old  power  was 
dead.  She  tried  to  bring  him  again  under  influence.  She 
failed,  but  she  succeeded  in  making  him  come  back  to  her 
as  if  nothing  had  ever  happened.  And  then  she  said  to 
herself  that  there  must  be  another  woman,  and  she  set 
herself  to  find  out  who  that  woman  was. 

Formerly  many  men  had  hovered — marriageable  men, 
excellent /arZ/j — round  the  cold  and  statuesque  beauty  of 
Victoria  Pengelley.  She  was  an  acknowledged  beauty  ; 
she  brought  an  atmosphere  of  perfect  taste  and  grace  in- 
to a  room  with  her ;  men  looked  at  her  and  wondered  ; 
foolish  girls,  who  knew  no  better,  envied  her.  Presently 
the  foolish  girls,  who  had  soft  faces  and  eyes,  which  could 
melt  in  love  or  sorrow,  envied  her  no  longer,  because  they 
got  engaged  and  married.     And  of  all  the  men  who  came 


382  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

and  went,  there  was  but  one  who  loved  her  so  that  his 
pulse  beat  quicker  when  she  came  ;  who  trembled  when 
he  took  her  hand  ;  whose  nerves  tingled  and  whose  blood 
ran  swifter  through  his  veins  when  he  asked  her,  down  in 
that  quiet  Scotch  village,  with  no  one  to  know  it  but  her 
maid,  to  be  his  wife. 

The  man  was  Lawrence  Colquhoun.  The  passion  had 
been  his.  Now  love  and  passion  were  buried  in  the  ashes  of 
the  past.  The  man  was  impassable,  and  the  woman, 
madly  kicking  against  the  fetters  which  she  had  bound 
around  herself,  was  angry  and  jealous. 

It  is  by  some  mistake  of  Nature  that  women  who  can- 
not love  can  yet  be  jealous.  Victoria  Pengelley's  pulse 
never  once  moved  the  faster  for  all  the  impetuosity  of  her 
lover.  She  liked  to  watch  it,  this  curious  yearning  after 
her  beauty,  this  eminently  masculine  weakness,  because  it 
was  a  tribute  to  her  power ;  it  is  always  pleasant  for  a 
woman  to  feel  that  she  is  loved  as  women  are  loved  in 
novels — men's  novels,  not  the  pseudo-passionate  school- 
girls' novels,  or  the  calmly  respectable  feminine  tales 
where  he  young  gentlemen  and  the  young  ladies  are 
superior  to  the  instincts  of  common  humanity.  Victoria 
played  with  this  giant  as  an  engineer  will  play  with  the 
wheels  of  a  mighty  engine.  She  could  do  what  she  liked 
with  it.  Samson  was  not  more  pliable  to  Delilah  ;  and 
Delilah  was  not  more  unresponsive  to  that  guileless  strong 
man.  She  soon  got  tired  of  her  toy,  however.  Scarcely 
were  the  morning  and  the  evening  of  the  fifth  day,  when 
by  pressing  some  unknown  spring  she  smashed  it  alto- 
gether. 

Now,  when  it  was  quite  too  late,  when  the  thing  was 
utterly  smashed,  when  she  had  a  husband  and  child,  she 
was  actually  trying  to  reconstruct  it.  Some  philosopher, 
probing  more  deeply  than  usual  the  mysteries  of  man- 
kind, once  discovered  that  it  was  at  all  times  impossible 
to  know  what  a  woman  wants.  He  laid  that  down  as  a 
general  axiom,  and  presented  it  as  an  irrefragable  truth 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  383 

for  the  universal  use  of  humanity.  One  may  sometimes, 
however,  guess  what  a  woman  does  not  want.  Victoria 
Cassilis,  one  may  be  sure,  did  not  want  to  sacrifice  her 
honour,  her  social  standing,  or  her  future.  She  was  not 
intending  to  go  off,  for  instance,  with  her  old  lover,  even 
if  he  should  propose  the  step,  which  seemed  unlikely. 
And  yet  she  would  have  liked  him  to  propose  it,  because 
then  she  would  have  felt  the  recovery  of  her  power.  Now 
her  sex,  as  Chaucer  and  others  before  him  pointed  out, 
love  power  beyond  all  other  earthly  ^things.  And  the 
history  of  queens,  from  Semiramis  to  Isabella,  shows  what 
a  mess  they  always  make  of  it  when  they  do  get  power. 

A  curious  problem.  Given  a  woman,  no  longer  in  the 
first  bloom  of  youth,  married  well,  and  clinging  with  the 
instincts  of  her  class  to  her  reputation  and  social  position. 
She  has  everything  to  lose  and  nothing  to  gain.  She  can- 
not hope  even  for  the  love  of  the  man  for  whom  she  is 
incurring  the  suspicions  of  the  world,  and  exciting  the 
jealousy  of  her  husband.  Yet  it  is  true,  in  her  case,  what 
the  race  of  evil-speakers,  liars,  and  slanderers  say  of  her. 
She  is  running  after  Lawrence  Colquhoun.  He  is  too 
much  with  her.  She  has  given  the  enemy  occasion  to  blas- 
pheme. 

As  for  Colquhoun,  when  he  thought  seriously  over  the 
situation,  he  laughed  when  it  was  a  fine  day,  and  swore  if 
it  was  raining.  The  English  generally  take  a  sombre 
view  of  things  because  it  is  so  constantly  raining.  We 
proclaim  our  impotence,  the  lack  of  national  spirit,  and 
our  poverty,  until  other  nations  actually  begin  to  believe 
us.  But  Colquhoun,  though  he  might  swear,  made  no 
effort  to  release  himself,  when  a  word  would  have  done  it, 

"  You  may  use  harsh  language  to  me,  Lawrence,"  said 
Mrs.  Cassilis — he  never  had  used  harsh  language  to  any 
woman — "  you  may  sneer  at  me,  and  laugh  in  your  cold 
and  cruelly  impassive  manner.  But  one  thing  I  can  say 
for  you,  that  you  understand  me." 

"  I  have  seen  all  your  moods,  Mrs.  Cassilis,  and  I  have 


384  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

a  good  memory.  If  you  will  show  your  husband  that  the 
surface  of  the  ocean  may  be  stormy  sometimes,  he  will 
understand  you  a  good  deal  better.  Get  up  a  little  breeze 
for  him." 

"  I  am  certainly  not  going  to  have  a  vulgar  quarrel  with 
Mr.  Cassilis." 

"  A  vulgar  quarrel  ?  Vulgar  ?  Ah.  vulgarity  changes 
every  five  years  or  so.  What  a  pity  that  vulgar  quarrels 
were  in  fashion  six  years  ago,  Mrs.  Cassilis  !" 

"Some  men  are  not  worth  losing  your  temper  about." 

"  Thank  you.  I  was,  I  suppose.  It  was  very  kind  of 
you,  indeed,  to  remind  me  of  it,  as  you  then  did,  in  a 
manner  at  once  forcible  and  not  to  be  forgotten.  Mr. 
Cassilis  gets  nothing,  I  suppose,  but  east  wind,  with  a 
cloudless  sky  which  has  the  sun  in  it,  but  only  the  sem- 
blance of  warmth.  I  got  a  good  sou'-wester.  But  take 
care,  take  care,  Mrs.  Cassilis  !  You  have  wantonly  thrown 
away  once  what  most  women  would  have  kept — kept,  Mrs. 
Cassilis  !  I  remember  when  I  was  kneeling  at  your  feet 
years  ago,  talking  the  usual  nonsense  about  being  un- 
worthy of  you.  Rubbish  !  I  was  more  than  worthy  of 
you,  because  I  could  give  myself  to  you  loyally,  and  you 
— you  could  only  pretend  !  " 

"  Go  on,  Lawrence.  It  is  something  that  you  regret  the 
past,  and  something  to  see  that  you  can  feel,  after  all. 

She  stopped  and  laughed  carelessly. 

"  Prick  me  and  I  sing  out.  That  is  natural.  But  we 
will  have  no  heroics.  What  I  mean  is,  that  I  am  well  out 
of  it  ;  and  that  you,  Victoria  Cassilis,  are — forgive  the 
plain  speaking — a  foolish  woman." 

"  Lawrence  Colquhoun  has  the  right  to  insult  me  as  he 
pleases,  and  I  must  bear  it." 

It  was  in  her  own  room.  Colquhoun  was  leaning  on  the 
window  ;  she  was  sitting  on  a  chair  before  him.  She  was 
agitated  and  excited.  He,  save  for  the  brief  moments 
when  he  spoke  as  if  with  emotion,  was  languid  and  calm. 

"  I  have  no  right,"  he  replied,  "  and  you  know  it.     Let 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  385 

US  finish,     Mrs.   Cassilis,  keep   what  you  have,  and  be 
thankful." 

"  What  I  have  !     What  have  I  ? 

"One  of  the  best  houses  in  London.  An  excellent 
social  position.  A  husband  said  to  be  the  ablest  man  in 
the  City.  An  income  which  gives  you  all  that  a  woman 
can  ask  for.  The  confidence  and  esteem  of  your  husband 
— and  a  child.     Do  these  things  mean  nothing  ?" 

"  My  husband — Oh,  my  husband  !  He  is  insufferable 
sometimes,  when  I  remember,  Lawrence." 

"  He  is  a  man  who  gives  his  trust  after  a  great  deal  of 
doubt  and  hesitation.  Then  he  gives  it  wholly.  To  take 
it  back  would  be  a  greater  blow,  a  far  greater  blow,  than 
it  would  ever  be  to  a  younger  man — to  such  a  man  as 
myself." 

**  Gabriel  Cassilis  only  suffers  when  he  loses  money." 
"  That   is  not  the  case.     You  cannot  afford  to  make 
another  great  mistake.     Success  isn't  on  the  cards  after 
two  such  blunders,  Mrs.  Cassilis." 

•'What  do  I  want  with  successs?  Let  me  have  happi- 
ness." 

"  Take  it ;  it  is  at  your  feet,"  said  Lawrence.  "  It  is  in 
this  house.  It  is  the  commonest  secret.  Every  simple 
country  woman  knows  it." 

"  No  one  will  ever  understand  me,"  she  sighed.  "  No 
one." 

"  It  is  simply  to  give  up  for  ever  thinking  about  your- 
self. Go  and  look  after  your  baby,  and  find  happiness 
there." 

Why  superior  women  are  always  so  angry  if  they  are 
asked  to  look  after  their  babies,  I  cannot  understand. 
There  is  no  blinking  the  fact  that  they  have  them.  The 
maternal  instinct  makes  women  who  cannot  write  or  talk 
fine  language  about  the  domestic  affections,  take  to  the 
tiny  creatures  with  a  passion  of  devotion  which  is  the 
loveliest  thing  to  look  upon  in  all  this  earth.  The  femme 
incomprise  alone  feels  no  anguish  if  her  baby  cries,  no  joy 


386  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

if  he  laughs,  and  flies  into  a  divine  rage  if  you  remind 
her  that  she  is  a  mother. 

'  My  baby !"  cried  Victoria,  springing  to  her  feet. 
"  You  see  me  yearning  for  sympathy,  looking  to  you  as 
my  oldest — once  my  dearest — friend,  for  a  little — only  a 
little — interest  and  pity,  and  you  send  me  to  my  baby  ! 
The  world  is  all  selfish  and  cold-hearted,  but  the  most 
selfish  man  in  it  is  Lawrence  Colquhoun  !" 

He  laughed  again.     After  all,  he  had  said  his  say. 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so,  because  it  simplifies  matters. 
Now,  Mrs,  Cassilis,  we  have  had  our  little  confidential 
talk,  and  I  think,  under  the  circumstances,  that  it  had 
better  be  the  last.  So,  for  a  time,  we  will  not  meet,  if  you 
please.  I  do  take  a  certain  amount  of  interest  in  you — that 
is,  I  am  always  curious  to  see  what  line  you  will  take  next. 
And  if  you  are  at  all  concerned  to  have  my  opinion 
and  counsel,  it  is  this  :  that  you've  got  your  chance; 
and  if  you  give  that  man  who  loves  you  and  trusts 
you  any  unhappiness  through  your  folly,  you  will  be 
a  much  more  heartless  and  wicked  woman  than  even 
I  have  ever  thought  you.  And,  by  Gad  !  I  ought  to 
know." 

He  left  her.  Mrs.  Cassilis  heard  his  step  in  the  hall 
and  the  door  close  behind  him.  Then  she  ran  to  the  win- 
dow, and  watched  him  strolling  in  his  leisurely,  careless 
way  down  the  road.  It  made  her  mad  to  think  that  she 
could  not  make  him  unhappy,  and  made  her  jealous  to 
think  that  she  could  no  longer  touch  his  heart.  Not  in 
love  with  him  at  all — she  never  had  been;  but  jealous  be- 
cause her  old  power  was  gone. 

Jealous !  There  must  be  another  girl.  Doubtless 
Phillis  Fleming.  She  ordered  her  carriage  and  drove 
straight  to  Twickenham.  Agatha  was  having  one  of  her 
little  garden-parties.  Jack  Dunquerque  was  there  with 
Gilead  Beck.  Also  Captain  Ladds.  But  Lawrence  Col- 
quhoun was  not.  She  stayed  an  hour;  she  ascertained 
from  Phillis  that  her  c^nardian  seldom  came  to  see  her,  and 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  387 

went  home  again  in  a  worse  temper  than  before,  because 
she  felt  herself  on  the  wrong  track. 

Tomlinson,  her  maid,  had  a  very  bad  time  of  it  while 
she  was  dressing  her  mistress  for  dinner.  Nothing  went 
right,  somehow.  Tomlinson,  the  hard-featured,  was  long 
suffering  and  patient.  She  made  no  reply  to  the  torrent 
which  flowed  from  her  superior's  angry  lips.  But  when 
respite  came  with  the  dinner-bell,  and  her  mistress  was 
safely  downstairs,  the  maid  sat  down  to  the  table  and 
wrote  a  letter  very  carefully.  This  she  read  and  re-read, 
and,  being  finally  satisfied  with  it,  she  took  it  out  to  the 
post  herself.  After  that,  as  she  would  not  be  wanted  till 
midnight  at  least,  she  took  a  cab  and  went  to  the  Maryle- 
bone  Theatre,  where  she  wept  over  the  distresses  of  a  lady, 
ruined  by  the  secret  voice  of  calumny. 

It  was  at  the  end  of  May,  and  the  season  was  at  its 
height.  Mrs.  Cassilis  had  two  or  three  engagements,  but 
she  came  home  early,  and  was  even  sharper  with  the  un- 
fortunate Tomlinson  than  before  dinner.  But  Tomlinson 
was  very  good,  and  bore  all  in  patience.  It  is  Christian 
to  endure. 

Next  morning  Gabriel  Cassilis  found  among  his  letters 
another  in  the  same  handwriting  as  that  of  the  three 
anonymous  communications  he  had  already  received. 

He  tore  it  open  with  a  groan. 

"  This  is  the  fourth  letter.  You  will  have  to  take  notice 
of  my  communications,  and  to  act  upon  them,  sooner  or 
later.  All  this  morning  Mr.  Colquhoun  was  locked  up 
with  your  wife  in  her  boudoir.  He  came  at  eleven  and 
went  away  at  half-past  one.  No  one  was  admitted.  They 
talked  of  many  things — of  their  Scotch  secret  especially, 
and  how  to  hide  it  from  you.  I  shall  keep  you  informed 
of  what  they  do.  At  half  past  two  Mrs.  Cassilis  ordered 
the  carriage  and  drove  to  Twickenham.  Mr.  Colquhoun 
has  got  his  ward  there.  Miss  Fleming.  So  that  doubtless 
she  went  to  meet  him  again.  In  the  evening  she  came 
home  in  a  very  bad  temper,  because  she  had  failed  to  meet 


388  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

him.  She  had  hoped  to  see  him  three  times  at  least  this 
very  day.  Surely,  surely  even  your  blind  confidence  can- 
not stand  a  continuation  of  this  kind  of  thing.  All  the 
world  knows  it  except  yourself  You  may  be  rich  and 
generous  to  her,  but  she  doesn't  love  you.  And  she 
doesn't  care  for  her  child.  She  hasn't  asked  to  see  it  for 
three  days — think  of  that  !  There  is  a  pretty  mother  for 
you  !  She  ill-treats  her  maid,  who  is  a  most  faithful per- 
son,  and  devoted  to  your  interests.  She  is  hated  by  every 
servant  in  the  house.  She  is  a  cold  hearted,  cruel  woman. 
And  even  if  she  loves  Mr.  Colquhoun,  it  can  only  be 
through  jealousy,  and  because  she  won't  let  him  marry 
anybody  else,  even  if  he  wanted  to.  But  things  are  coming 
to  a  crisis.     Wait  !' ' 

Mr.  Mowll  came  m  with  a  packet  of  papers,  and  found 
his  master  staring  straight  before  him  into  space.  He 
spoke  to  him  but  received  no  answer.  Then  he  touched 
him  gently  on  the  arm.  Mr.  Cassilis  started,  and  looked 
round  hastily.  His  first  movement  was  to  lay  his  hand 
upon  a  letter  on  the  desk. 

"  What  is  it,  Mowll — what  is  it  ?  I  was  thinking — I  was 
thinking.     I  am  not  very  well  to-day,  Mowll." 

"  You  have  been  working  too  hard,  sir,"  said  his  secre- 
tary. 

« Yes — yes.  It  is  nothing.  Now,  then,  let  us  look  at 
what  you  have  brought." 

For  two  hours  Mr.  Cassilis  worked  with  his  secretary. 
He  had  the  faculty  of  rapid  and  decisive  work.  And  he 
had  the  eye  of  a  hawk.  They  were  two  hours  of  good 
work,  and  the  secretary's  notes  were  voluminous.  Sud- 
denly the  financier  stopped — the  work  half  done.  It  was 
as  if  the  machinery  of  a  clock  were  to  go  wrong  without 
warning. 

"  So,"  he  said,  with  an  effort,  "  I  think  we  will  stop  for 
to-day.  Put  all  these  matters  at  work,  Mowll.  I  shall  go 
home  and  rest." 

A  thing  he  had  never  done  before  in  all  his  life. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  389 

He  went  back  to  his  house.  His  wife  was  at  home  and 
alone.  They  had  luncheon  together,  and  drove  out  in 
the  afternoon.  Her  calm  and  stately  pride  drove  the 
jealous  doubts  from  his  troubled  mind  as  the  sun  chases 
away  the  mists  of  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

**  An  excellent  play."  . 

SUCH  things  as  dinners  to  Literature  were  the  relaxa- 
tions of  Gilead  Beck  s  serious  life  His  real  busi- 
ness was  to  find  an  object  worthy  of  that  enormous  income 
of  which  he  found  himself  the  trustee.  The  most  sympa- 
thetic man  of  his  acquaintance,  although  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  make  him  regard  any  subject  seriously,  was  Jack 
Dunquerque,  and  to  him  he  confided  his  anxieties  and 
difficulties. 

"  I  can't  fix  it,"  he  groaned.     "  I  can't  fix  it  anyhow.  ' 

Jack  knew  what  he  meant,  but  waited  for  further  light, 
like  him  who  readeth  an  acrostic. 

"  The  more  I  look  at  that  growin'  pile — there's  enough 
now  to  build  the  White  House  over  again — the  more  I 
misdoubt  myself." 

**  Where  have  you  got  it  all  ? ' 

'*  In  Government  Stocks — by  the  help  of  Mr.  Cassilis, 
No  more  of  the  unholy  traffic  in  shares  which  you  buy  to 
sell  again.  No,  sir.  That  means  makin'  the  widow  weep 
and  the  minister  swear;  an'  1  don't  know  which  spectacle 
of  those  two  is  the  more  melancholy  for  a  Christian  man. 
All  in  stocks — Government  Stocks,  safe  and  easy  to  draw 
out,  with  the  interest  comin'  in  regular  as  the  chant  of  the 
cuckoo-clock." 

"  Well,  can't  you  Jet  it  stay  there  ?" 

"No,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  I  can't.     There's  the  voice  of 


39°  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

that  blessed  Inseck  in  the  box  there,  night  and  day  in  my 
ears.  And  it  says,  plain  as  speech  can  make  it,  *  Do  some- 
thing with  the  money.'  " 

"You  have  bought  a  few  pictures." 

"Yes,  sir:  I  have  begun  the  great  Gilead  P.  Beck  col- 
lection. And  when  that  is  finished,  I  guess  there'll  be  no 
collection  on  this  airth  to  show  a  candle  to  it.  But  that's 
personal  vanity.  That's  not  what  the  Golden  Butterfly 
wants." 

"  Would  he  like  you  to  have  a  yacht  ?  A  good  deal  may 
be  chucked  over  a  yacht.  That  is,  a  good  deal  for  what 
we  Englishmen  call  a  rich  man." 

"  When  I  go  home  again  I  mean  to  build  a  yacht,  and 
sail  her  over  here  and  race  you  people  at  Cowes — all  the 
same  as  the  America,  twenty  years  ago.     But  not  yet." 

"  There  are  a  few  trifles  going  about  which  run  away 
with  money.  Polo,  now.  If  you  play  polo  hard  enough, 
you  may  knock  up  a  pony  every  game.  But  I  suppose 
that  would  not  be  expensive  enough  for  you.  You 
couldn't  ride  two  ponies  at  once,  I  suppose,  like  a  circus 
fellow." 

"  Selfish  luxury,  Mr.  Dunquerque,"  said  Gilead,  with  an 
almost  prayerful  twang,  "  is  not  the  platform  of  the  Golden 
Butterfly.  I  should  like  to  ride  two  ponies  at  once,  but 
it's  not  to  be  thought  of.  And  my  legs  are  too  long  for 
any  but  a  Kentucky  pony  " 

"Is  the  Turf  selfish  luxury,  I  wonder ?"  asked  Jack. 
"  A  good  deal  of  money  can  be  got  through  on  the  Turf. 
Nothing,  of  course,  compared  with  your  pile  ;  but  still, 
you  might  make  a  sensible  hole  in  it  by  judicious  back- 
ing." 

Gilead  Beck  was  as  free  from  ostentation,  vanity,  and 
the  desire  to  have  his  ears  tickled  as  any  man.  But  still 
he  did  like  to  feel  that  by  the  act  of  Providence,  he  was 
separated  from  other  men.  An  income  of  fifteen  hundred 
pounds  a  day,  which  does  not  depend  upon  harvests,  or 
on  coal,  or  on  iron,  or  anything  to  eat  and  drmk,  but  only 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  39I 

on  the  demand  for  rock-oil,  which  increases,  as  he  often 
said,  with  the  march  ot  civiHsation,  does  certainly  separ- 
ate a  man  from  his  fellows.  This  feeling  of  division  sad- 
dened him  ;  it  imparted  something  of  the  greatness  of 
soul  which  belongs  even  to  the  most  unworthy  emperors  ; 
he  felt  himself  bound  to  do  something  for  the  good  of 
mankind  while  life  and  strength  were  in  him.  And  it  was 
not  unpleasant  to  know  that  others  recognised  the  vast- 
ness  of  his  Luck,  Therefore,  when  Jack  Dunquerque 
spoke  as  if  the  Turf  were  a  gulf  which  might  be  filled  up 
with  his  fortune,  while  it  swallowed,  without  growing  sen- 
sibly more  shallow,  all  the  smaller  fortunes  yeaily  shot 
into  it  like  the  rubbish  on  the  future  site  of  a  suburban 
villa,  Gilead  Beck  smiled.  Such  recognition  from  this 
young  man  was  doubly  pleasant  to  him  on  account  of  his 
unbounded  affection  for  him.  Jack  Dunqerque  had  saved 
his  life.  Jack  Dunquerque  treated  him  as  an  equal  and  a 
friend.  Jack  Dunquerque  wanted  nothing  of  him,  and, 
poor  as  he  was,  would  accept  nothing  of  him.  Jack  Dun- 
querque was  the  first,  as  he  was  also  the  most  favourable, 
specimen  he  had  met  of  the  class  which  may  be  poor,  but 
does  not  seem  to  care  for  more  money ;  the  class  which 
no  longer  works  for  increase  of  fortune. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Gilead.  "  I  do  not  understand  the 
Turf.  When  I  go  home  I  jhall  rear  horses  and  improve 
the  breed.  Maybe  I  may  run  a  horse  in  a  trotting-match 
at  Saratoga." 

In  the  mornings  this  American,  in  search  of  a  Worthy 
Object,  devoted  his  time  to  making  the  round  of  hospitals, 
London  societies,  and  charities  of  all  kinds.  He  asked 
what  they  did,  and  why  they  did  it.  He  made  remarks 
which  were  generally  unpleasant  to  the  employes  of  the 
societies  ;  he  went  away  without  offering  the  smallest 
donation  ;  and  he  returned  moodily  to  the  Langhar 
Hotel. 

"  The  English,"  he  said,  after  a  fortnight  of  these  in- 
\estigations,  "air  the  most  kind-hearted  people  in  the 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

hull  world.  We  are  charitable,  and  I  believe  the  Germans, 
when  they  are  not  officers  in  their  own  army,  are  a  well- 
disposed   folk.     But  in   America,  when  a  man  tumble* 
down  the  ladder,  he  falls  hard.     Here  there's  every  con- 
trivance for  makin'  him  fall  soft.    A  man  don't  feel  hand- 
some when  he's  on  the  broad  of  his  back,  but  it  must  be  a 
comfort  for  him  to  feel  that  his  backbone  isn't  broke. 
Lord,  Mr,  Dunquerque  !   to   look   at   the   hospitals   and 
refuges,  one  would  think  the  hull  Bible  had  got  nothin 
but  the  story  of  the  Prodigal  Son,  and  that  every  othei 
Englishman  was  that  misbehaved  boy.     I  reckon  if  the 
young  man  had  lived  in  London,  he'd  have  gone  home 
very  slow — most  as  slow  as  ever  he  could  travel.   There'd 
be  the  hospitals,  comfortable  and  warm,  when  his  consti- 
tootion  had  broke  down  with  too  many  drinks  :  there'd 
have  been  the  convalescent  home  for  him  to  enjoy  six 
months  of  happy  meditation  by  the  seaside  when  he  was 
pickin'  up  again  ;  and  when  he  got  well,  would  he  take  to 
the  swine-herdin,'  or  would  he  tramp  it  home  to  the  old 
man  ?    Not  he,  sir  ;  he  would  go  back  to  the  old  courses 
and  become   a   Roper.     Then   more    hospitals.     P'r'aps 
when  he'd  got  quite  tired,  and  seen  the  inside  of  a  State 
prison,  and  been  without  his  little  comforts  for  a  spell, 
he'd  have  gone  home  at  last — just  as  I  did,  for  I  was  the 
prodigal  son  without  the  riotous  livin* — and  found  the 
old  man  gone,  leavin'  him  his  blessin.'     The  elder  one 
would  hand  him  the  blessin'  cheerfully,  and  stick  to  the 
old  man's  farm.     Then  the  poor  broken  down  sportsman 
— he'd  tramp  it  back  to  London,  get  into  an  almshouse, 
with  an  allowance  from  a  City  charity,  and  die  happy. 

"  There's  another  kind  o'  prodigal,"  Mr.  Beck  went  on, 
being  in  a  mood  for  moralising.  "  She's  of  the  other  sex. 
Formerly  she  used  to  repent  when  she  thought  of  what 
was  before  her.  There's  a  refuge  before  her  now,  and 
kind  women  to  take  her  by  the  hand  and  cry  over  her. 
She  isn't  in  any  hurry  for  the  cryin'  to  begin,  but  it's  com- 
fortable to  look  forward  to;  and  so  she  goes  on  until  she's 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  393 

rv...dy.  Twenty  years  fling,  maybe,  with  nothing  to  do 
fc>t  her  daily  bread;  and  then  to  start  fair  on  the  same 
level  as  the  woman  who  has  kept  her  self-respect  and 
worked. 

"I  can't  see  my  way  clear,  Mr.  Dunquerque;  I  can't. 
It  wouldn't  do  any  kind  of  honour  to  the  Golden  Butter- 
fly to  lay  out  all  of  these  dollars  in  helpin'  up  them  who 
are  bound  to  fall — bound  to  fall.  There's  only  two  classes 
of  people  in  this  world — those  who  are  goin'  up,  and 
those  who  are  goin'  down.  It's  no  use  tryin'  to  stop 
those  who  are  on  their  way  down.  Let  them  go;  let 
them  slide;  give  them  a  shove  down,  if  you  like,  and  all 
the  better,  because  they  will  the  sooner  get  to  the 
bottom^  and  then  gc  up  again  till  they  find  their  own 
level," 

It  was  in  the  eveuKVi;,  at  nine  o'clock,  when  Gilead 
Beck  made  the  oration.  He  was  in  his  smaller  room, 
which  was  lit  only  by  the  twilight  of  the  May  evening 
and  by  the  gas-lamp  in  the  street  below.  He  walked  up 
and  down,  talking  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
silencing  Jack  Dunquerque,  who  had  never  thought 
seriously  about  these  or  any  other  things,  by  his  earnest- 
ness. Every  now  and  then  he  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  into  the  street  below.  The  cabs  rattled  up  and 
down,  and  on  the  pavement  the  customary  sight  of 
a  West- end  street  after  dark  perhaps  gave  him  inspira- 
tion. 

"  Their  own  level,"  he  repeated  it.  "  Yes,  sir,  there's 
a  pioper  level  for  every  one  of  us  somewhere,  if  only  we 
can  find  it.  At  the  lowest  depth  of  all,  there's  the  airth 
to  be  ploughed,  the  hogs  to  be  drove,  and  the  corn  to  be 
reaped.  I  read  the  other  day,  when  I  was  studying  for 
the  great  dinner,  that  formerly,  if  a  man  took  refuge  in  a 
town,  he  might  stay  there  for  a  year  and  a  day.  If  then 
he  could  not  keep  himself,  they  opened  the  gates  and  they 
ran  him  out  on  a  plank;  same  way  as  I  left  Clearville  City. 
Back  to  the  soil  he  went — back  to  the  plough.     Let  those 


394  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

who  are  going  down  hill  get  down  as  fast  as  they  can,  and 
go  back  to  the  soil. 

"  I've  sometimes  thought,"  he  went  on,  "  that  there's  a 
kind  of  work  lower  than  agriculture.  It  is  to  wear  a  black 
coat  and  do  copying.  You  take  a  boy  and  you  make  him 
a  machine;  tell  him  to  copy,  that  is  all.  Why,  sir,  the 
rustic  who  feeds  the  pigs  is  a  Solomon  beside  that  poor 
critter.  Make  your  poor  helpless  paupers  into  clerks,  and 
make  the  men  who've  got  arms  and  legs  and  no  brains 
into  farm  labourers.  Perhaps  I  shall  build  a  city  and  con- 
duct it  on  those  principles." 

Then  he  stopped  because  he  had  run  himself  down,  and 
they  began  to  talk  of  Phillis. 

But  it  seemed  to  Jack  a  new  and  singular  idea.  The 
weak  must  go  to  the  wall;  but  they  might  be  helped  to 
find  their  level.  He  was  glad  for  once  that  he  had  that 
small  four  hundred  a  year  of  his  own,  because,  as  he  re- 
flected, his  own  level  might  be  somewhere  on  the  stage 
where  the  manufacture  by  hand,  say,  of  upper  leathers, 
represents  the  proper  occupation  of  the  class.  A  good 
many  other  fellows,  he  thought,  among  his  own  acquaint- 
ance, might  find  themselves  accommodated  with  boards 
for  the  cobbling  business  near  himself.  And  he  looked 
at  Gilead  Beck  with  increased  admiration  as  a  man 
who  had  struck  all  this,  as  well  as  He,  out  of  his  own 
head. 

Jack  Dunquerque  suggested  educational  endowments. 
Mr.  Beck  made  deliberate  inquiries  into  the  endowments 
of  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  with  a  view  of  founding  a 
grand  National  American  University  on  the  old  lines,  to 
be  endowed  in  perpetuity  with  the  proceeds  of  his  peren- 
nial oil-fountains.  But  there  were  things  about  these 
ancient  seats  of  learning  which  did  not  commend  them- 
selves to  him.  In  his  unscholastic  ignorance  he  asked 
what  was  the  good  of  pitting  young  men  against  each 
other,  like  the  gladiators  in  the  arena,  to  fight,  like  them, 
with  weapons  of   no   earthly  modern  use.     And    when  he 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  395 

was  told  of  fellowships  given  to  men  for  life  as  a  prize  for 
a  single  battle,  he  laughed  aloud. 

He  went  down  to  Eton.  He  was  mean  enough  to  say 
of  the  masters  that  they  made  their  incomes  by  over- 
charging the  butchers'  and  the  grocers'  bills,  and  he  said 
that  ministers,  as  he  called  them,  ought  not  to  be  grocers; 
and  of  the  boys  he  said  that  he  thought  it  unwholesome 
for  them  that  some  should  have  unlimited  pocket-money, 
and  all  should  have  unlimited  tick.  Also  some  one 
told  him  that  Eton  boys  no  longer  fight,  because  they 
funk  one  another.  So  that  he  came  home  sorrowful  and 
scornful. 

"  In  my  country,"  he  said,  "  we  have  got  no  scholar- 
ships, and  if  the  young  men  can't  pay  their  professors 
they  do  without  them  and  educate  themselves.  And  in 
my  country  the  boys  fight.  Yes,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  you 
bet  they  do  fight." 

It  was  after  an  evening  at  the  Lyceum  that  Gilead  Beck 
hit  upon  the  grand  idea  of  his  life. 

The  idea  struck  hini  as  they  walked  home.  It  fell  up- 
on him  like  an  inspiration,  and  for  the  moment  stunned 
him.  He  was  silent  until  he  reached  the  hotel.  Then  he 
called  a  waiter. 

"  Get  Mr.  Dunquerque  a  key,"  he  said.  **  He  will  sleep 
here.  That  means,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  that  we  can  talk  all 
night  if  you  please.     I  want  advice." 

Jack  laughed.     He  always  did  laugh. 

"  It  is  a  great  privilege,"  he  said,  "advising  Fortunatus." 

•♦  It  is  a  great  privilege,  Mr.  Dunquerque,"  returned 
Fortunatus,  "  having  an  adviser  who  wants  nothing  for 
himself.  See  that  pile  of  letters.  Every  one  a  begging- 
letter,  except  that  blue  one  on  the  top,  which  is  from  a 
clergyman.  He's  a  powerful  generous  man,  sir.  He 
offers  to  conduct  my  charities  at  a  salary  of  three  hundred 
pounds  a  year," 

Mr.  Beck  then  proceeded  to  unfold  the  great  idea 
which  had  sprung  up,  full  grown,  in  his  brain. 


39^  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"  That  man  ,  sir.,"  he  said,  meaning  Henry  Irving,  "  is 
a  grand  actor.  And  they  are  using  him  up.  He  wants 
rest. 

"  I  was  an  actor  myself  once,  and  I've  loved  the  boards 
ever  since.  I  was  not  a  great  actor.  I  am  bound  to  say 
that  I  did  not  act  like  Mr.  Henry  Irving.  Quite  the  con- 
trary. Once  I  was  the  hind  legs  of  an  elephant.  Perhaps 
Mr.  Irving  himself,  when  he  was  a  'prentice,  was  the  fore 
legs.  I  was  on  the  boards  for  a  month,  when  the  com- 
pany busted  up.  Most  things  did  bust  up  that  I  had  to 
do  with  in  those  days.  I  was  the  lawyer  in  Flowers  of 
the  Forest.  I  was  the  demon  with  the  keg  to  Mr  Jeffer- 
son's Rip  Van  Winkle.  Once  I  played  Horatio.  That 
was  when  the  Mayor  of  Constantinople  City  inaugurated 
his  year  of  office  by  playin'  Hamlet.  He'd  always  been 
fond  of  the  stage,  that  Mayor,  but  through  bein'  in  the 
soft-goods  line  never  could  find  time  to  go  on.  So  when 
he  got  the  chance,  bein'  then  a  matter  of  four-and-fifty,  of 
course  he  took  it.  And  he  elected  to  play  Hamlet,  just 
to  show  the  citizens  what  a  whole-souled  Mayor 
they'd  got,  and  the  people  in  general  what  good  play- 
actin'  meant.  The  corporation  attended  in  a  body, 
and  sat  in  the  front  row  of  what  you  would  call  the  dress 
circle.  All  in  store  clothes  and  go-to-nteetin'  gloves.  It 
was  a  majestic  and  an  imposing  spectacle.  Behind  them 
was  the  fire  brigade  in  uniform.  The  citizens  of  Constan- 
tinople and  their  wives  and  daughters  crowded  out  the 
house. 

"  Wal,  sir,  we  began.  Whether  it  was  they  felt  jealous 
or  whether  they  felt  envious,  that  corporation  laughed. 
They  laughed  at  the  sentinels,  and  they  laughed  at  the 
moon.  They  laughed  at  the  Ghost,  and  they  laughed 
at  me — Horatio.     And  then  they  laughed  at  Hamlet. 

"  I  watched  the  Mayor  gettin'  gradually  riz.  Any 
man's  dander  would.  Presently  he  rose  to  that  height 
that  he  went  to  the  footlights,  and  stood  there  facin' his 
own  town  council  like  a  bull  behind  a  gate. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  397 

•'  They  left  off  bughing  for  a  minute,  and  then  they 
began  again.  We  are  a  grave  people,  Mr.  Dunquerque, 
I  am  told,  and  the  sight  of  those  town  councillors  all 
laughin'  together  like  so  many  free  niggers  before  the  war 
was  most  too  much  for  any  one. 

''  The  Mayor  made  a  speech  that  wasn't  in  the  play. 

"  Hyar,"  he  said,  lookin'  solemn.  •  You  jest  gether  up 
your  traps  and  skin  out  of  this.  I've  got  the  say  about 
thi.1  house,  and  I  arn't  a  goin'  to  have  the  folks  incited 
to  make  game  of  their  Mayor.  So — you — kin — ^jist — 
light' 

"  They  hesitated. 

"  The  Mayor  pointed  to  the  back  of  the  theatre. 

•  •  Git,'  he  said  again. 

"  One  of  the  town  councillors  rose  and  spoke. 

♦'  •  Mr.  Mayor,'  he  began,  'or  Hamlet,  Prince  of  Den- 
mark ■ 

*'  Wal,  sir,"  said  the  Mayor,  '  didn't  Nero  play  in  his 
own  theaytre  ?' 

*' '  Mr.  Mayor,  or  Hamlet,  or  Nero,  he  went  on,  <  we 
came  here  on  the  presumption  that  we  were  paying  for 
our  places,  and  bound  to  laugh  if  we  were  amused  at  the 
performance.  Now,  sir,  this  performance  does  amuse  us 
considerable.' 

*  ■  You  may  presump,'  said  the  Mayor,  'what  you  dam 
please.  But  git.  Git  at  once,  or  I'll  turn  on  the 
pumps.' 

♦  It  was  the  Ghost  who  came  to  the  front  with  the  hose 
in  his.  hands  ready  to  begin. 

"  The  town  council  disappeared  before  he  had  time  to 
play  on  them  and  we  went  on  with  the  tragedy. 

'•  But  it  was  spoiled,  sir,  completely  spoiled.  And  I 
have  never  acted  since  then. 

"  So  you  see  Mr.  Dunquerque,  I  know  somethin'  about 
actin .  'Tisn  t  as  if  I  was  a  raw  youngster  starting  a 
theatrical  idea  all  at  once.  I  thought  of  it  to-night,  while 
1  saw  a   man   acim  who  has  the   real   stuff   in  him,  and 


398  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

only  wants  rest.  I  mean  to  try  an  experiment  in  Lon- 
don, and  if  it  succeeds  I  shall  take  it  to  New  York, 
and  make  the  American  Drama  the  greatest  in  all  the 
world." 

"  What  will  you  do  ?" 

"  I  said  to  myself  in  that  theatre  :  *  We  want  a  place 
where  we  can  have  a  different  piece  acted  every  week ; 
we  want  to  give  time  for  rehearsals  and  for  alteration; 
v/e  want  to  bring  up  the  level  of  the  second-rate  actors; 
we  want  more  intelligence;  and  we  want  more  care. 
Now,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  how  would  you  tackle  that 
problem  ?" 

"  I  cannot  say." 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you,  sir.  You  must  have  three  full 
companies.  You  must  give  up  expecting  that  Theatre  to 
pay  its  expenses;  you  must  find  a  rich  man  to  pay  for 
that  Theatre;  and  he  must  pay  up  pretty  handsome." 

"  Lord  de  Molleteste  took  the  Royal  Hemisphere  last 
year." 

"  Had  he  three  companies,  sir  ?" 

'*No;  he  only  had  one;  and  that  was  a  bad  one. 
Wanted  to  bring  out  a  new  actress,  and  no  one  went  to 
see  her.  Cost  him  a  hundred  pounds  a  week  till  he  shut 
it  up." 

"  Well,  we  will  bring  along  new  actresses  too,  but  in  a 
different  fashion.  They  will  have  to  work  their  way  up 
from  the  bottom  of  the  ladder.  My  Theatre  will  cost  me 
a  good  deal  more  than  a  hundred  pounds  a  week,  I  expect. 
But  I  am  bound  to  run  it.  The  idea's  in  my  head  strong. 
It's  the  thing  to  do.  A  year  or  two  in  London,  and  then 
for  the  States.  We  shall  have  a  Grand  National  Drama, 
and  the  He  shall  pay  for  it." 

He  took  paper  and  pen,  and  began  to  write 

"  Three  companies,  all  complete,  for  tragedy  and  com- 
edy. I've  been  to  every  theatre  in  London,  and  I'm  ready 
with  my  list.  Now,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  you  listen  while  I 
write  them  down. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLy.  399 

"  I  say  first  company  ;  not  that  there's  any  better  or 
worse,  but  because  one  must  begin  with  something. 

"  In  the  first  I  will  have  Mr.  Irving,  Mr.  Henry  Neville, 
Mr.  William  Farren,  Mr.  Toole,  Mr.  Emery,  Miss  Bate- 
man,  and  Miss  Nelly  Furren. 

"  In  the  second,  Mr.  George  Rignold — I  saw  him  in 
Henry  V.  last  winter  in  the  States — Mr.  Hare,  Mr.  Ken- 
dal, Mr.  Lionel  Brough,  Mrs.  Kendal,  and  that  clever 
little  lady.  Miss  Angelina  Claude. 

"  In  the  third  I  will  have  Mr.  Phelps,  Mr.  Charles 
Matthews,  Mr.  W.  J.  Hill,  Mr.  Arthur  Cecil,  Mr.  Kelly, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bancroft,  and  Mrs.  Scott-Siddons,  if  you 
could  only  get  her. 

"  I  should  ask  Mr.  Alfred  Wiganto  be  a  stage-manager 
and  general  director,  and  I  would  give  him  absolute  power. 

"  Every  company  will  play  for  a  week  and  rehearse  for 
a  fortnight.  The  principal  parts  shall  not  always  be 
played  by  the  best  actors.  And  I  will  not  have  any  piece 
run  for  more  than  a  week  at  a  time." 

"  And  how  do  you  think  your  teams  would  run  to- 
gether ?" 

"  Sir,  it  would  be  a  distinction  to  belong  to  that  Theatre. 
And  they  would  be  well  paid.  They  will  run  together 
just  for  the  very  same  reason  as  everybody  runs  together 
—  for  their  own  interest." 

"  I  believe,"  said  Jack,  "  that  you  have  at  last  hit 
upon  a  plan  forgetting  rid  eyen  of  your  superfluous  cash." 

"  It  will  cost  a  powerful  lot,  I  believe.  But  Lord,  Mr. 
Dunquerque  !  what  better  object  can  there  be  than  to  im- 
prove the  Stage  ?  Think  what  it  would  mean.  The 
House  properly  managed  ;  no  loafin*  around  behind  the 
scenes  ;  every  actor  doing  his  darn  best,  and  taking  time 
for  study  and  rehearsal ;  people  comin'  down  to  a  quiet 
evening,  with  the  best  artists  to  entertain  them,  and  the 
best  pieces  to  play.  The  Stage  would  revive,  sir.  We 
should  hear  no  more  about  the  decay  of  the  Drama.  The 
Drama  decay  !     That's   bunkum,  sir.     That's  the  inven- 


40O  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

tion  of  the  priests  and  the  ministers,  who  go  about  down- 
cryin'  what  they  can't  have  their  own  fingers  in." 

"  But  I  don't  see  how  your  scheme  will  encourage 
authors." 

"  I  shall  pay  them  too,  sir.  I  should  say  to  Mr.  Byron: 
*  Sir,  you  air  a  clever  and  and  a  witty  man.  Go  right 
away,  sir.  Sit  down  for  a  twelvemonth,  and  do  nothin'  at 
all.  Then  write  me  a  play  ;  put  your  own  situations  in  it, 
not  old  jokes  ;  put  your  own  situations  in  it,  not  old  ones. 
Give  me  somethin'  better.'  Then  I  should  say  to  Mr. 
Gilbert:  <  Your  pieces  have  got  the  real  grit,  young  gentle- 
man; but  you  write  too  fast.  Go  away  too  for  six  months 
and  do  nothin'.  Then  sit  down  for  six  months  more,  and 
write  a  piece  that  will  be  pretty  and  sweet,  and  won  t  be 
thin.'  And  there's  more  dramatists  behind — only  give 
them  a  chance.     They  shall  have  it  at  my  house." 

"  And  what  will  the  other  houses  do  ?" 

"  The  other  houses,  sir,  may  go  on  playing  pieces  for 
four  hundred  nights  if  they  like.  I  leave  them  plenty  of 
men  to  stump  their  boards,  and  my  Theatre  won  t  hold 
more  than  a  certain  number.  I  shall  only  take  a  small 
house  to  begin  with,  such  a  house  as  the  Lyceum,  and  we 
shall  gradually  get  along.  But  no  profit  can  be  made  by 
such  a  Stage,  and  I  am  ready  to  give  half  my  He  to  keep 
it  goin'.  Of  course,"  he  added,  "  when  it  is  a  success 
in  London  I  shall  carry  it  away,  company  and  all,  to  New 
York." 

He  rose  in  a  burst  of  enthusiasm. 

"  Gilead  P.  Beck  shall  be  known  for  his  collection  of 
pictures.  He  shall  be  known  for  his  Golden  Butterfly^  and 
the  Luck  it  brought  him.  But  he  shall  be  best  known, 
Mr.  Dunquerque,  because  he  will  be  the  first  man  to  take 
the  Stage  out  of  the  mud  of  commercial  enterprise,  and 
raise  it  to  be  the  great  educator  of  the  people.  He  shall 
be  known  as  the  founder  of  the  Grand  National  American 
Drama.  And  his  bust  shall  be  planted  on  the  top  of  every 
American  stage." 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  40I 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

"  In  such  a  cause  who  would  not  give  ?    What  heart 
But  leaps  at  such  a  name  ?  " 

PEOPLE  of  rank  and  position  are  apt  to  complain  of 
begging-letters.  Surely  England  must  be  a  happy 
country  since  its  rich  people  complain  mostly  of  begging- 
letters  ;  for  they  are  so  easily  dropped  into  the  waste- 
paper  basket.  A  country  squire — any  man  with  a  handle 
to  his  name  and  place  for  a  permanent  address — is  the 
natural  prey  and  victim  of  the  beggars.  The  lithographed 
letter  comes  with  every  post,  trying  in  vain  to  look  like  a 
v/ritten  letter.  And  though  in  fervid  sentences  it  shows 
the  danger  to  your  immortal  soul  if  you  refuse  the  plead- 
ing, most  men  have  the  courage  to  resist.  The  fact  is 
that  the  letter  is  not  a  nuisance  at  all,  because  it  is  never 
read.  On  the  other  hand,  a  new  and  very  tangible  nuis- 
ance is  springing  up.  It  is  that  of  the  people  who  go 
round  and  call.  Sir  Roger  de  Coverly  in  his  secluded 
village  is  free,  from  the  women  who  give  you  the  alterna- 
tive of  a  day  with  Moody  and  Sankey  or  an  eternity  of 
repentance  ;  he  never  sees  the  pair  of  Sisters  got  up  like 
Roman  Catholic  nuns,  who  stand  meekly  before  you,  arms 
crossed,  mutely  refusing  to  go  without  five  shillings  at 
least  for  their  Ritualist  hot-house.  But  he  who  lives  in 
chambers,  he  who  puts  up  at  a  great  hotel  and  becomes 
known,  he  who  has  a  house  in  any  address  from  Chester 
Square  to  Netting  Hill,  understands  this  trouble. 

In  some  mysterious  way  Gilead  Beck  had  become 
known.  Perhaps  this  was  partly  in  consequence  of  his 
habit  of  going  to  institutions,  charities,  and  the  like,  and 
wanting  to  find  out  everything.  In  some  vague  and  misty 
way  it  became  knnwn  that  there  was  at  the  I.angham 
Hotel  an  American  named  Gilead  P.  Beck,  who  was  ask- 


402  THte   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

tng  questions  philanthropically.  Then  all  the  people  who 
live  on  philanthropists,  with  all  those  who  work  for  their 
pleasure  among  philanthropists,  began  to  tackle  Gilead 
P.  Beck.  Letters  came  in  the  morning,  which  he  read 
but  did  not  answer.  Circulars  were  sent  to  him,  of  which 
he  perhaps  made  a  note.  Telegrams  were  even  deliverea 
to  him — people  somehow  must  read  telegrams — asking 
him  for  money.  Those  wonderful  people  who  address 
the  Affluent  in  the  Times  and  ask  for  ;^3oo  on  the  security 
of  an  honest  man's  word  ;  those  unhappy  ladies  whose 
father  was  a  gentleman  and  an  officer,  on  the  strength  of 
which  fact  they  ask  the  Benevolent  to  help  them  in  their 
undeserved  distress,  poor  things  ;  those  disinterested  ad- 
vertisers who  want  a  few  hundreds,  and  who  will  give 
fifteen  per  cent,  on  the  security  of  a  splendid  piano,  a 
small  gallery  of  undoubted  pictures,  and  some  unique 
china  ;  those  tradesmen  who  try  to  stave  off  bankruptcy 
by  asking  the  world  generally  for  a  loan  on  the  strength 
of  a  simple  reference  to  the  clergyman  of  St,  Tinpot, 
Hammersmith  ;  those  artful  dodgers,  Mr.  Ally  Sloper  and 
his  friends,  when  they  have  devised  a  new  and  ingenious 
method  of  screwing  money  out  of  the  rich, — all  these  peo- 
ple got  hold  of  our  Gilead,  and  pelted  him  with  letters. 
Did  they  know,  the  ingenious  and  the  needy,  how  the 
business  is  overdone,  they  would  change  their  tactics  and 
go  round  calling. 

It  requires  a  front  of  brass,  entire  absence  of  self- 
respect,  and  an  epidermis  like  that  of  the  rhinoceros  for 
toughness,  to  undertake  this  work.  Yet  ladies  do  it. 
You  want  a  temperament  off  which  insults,  gibes,  sneers, 
and  blank  refusals  fall  like  water  off  a  nasturtium-leaf  to 
go  the  begging-round.  Yet  women  do  it.  They  do  it 
not  only  for  themselves,  but  also  for  their  cause.  From 
Ritualism  down  to  Atheism,  from  the  fashionable  enthu- 
siasm to  the  nihilism  which  the  British  workman  is  being 
taught  to  regard  as  the  hidden  knowledge,  there  are 
women  who  will  brave  anything,  dare  anything,  say  any- 


THE  GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  403 

thing,  and  endure  anjrthing.  They  love  to  be  martyred, 
so  long  especially  as  it  does  not  hurt ;  they  are  angry 
with  the  lukewarm  zeal  of  their  male  supporters,  forget- 
ting that  a  man  sees  the  two  sides  of  a  question,  while  a 
woman  never  sees  more  than  one  ;  they  mistake  notoriety 
for  fame,  and  contempt  for  jealous  admiration. 

And  here,  in  the  very  heart  of  London,  was  a  man  who 
seemed  simply  born  for  the  Polite  Beggar.  A  man  rest- 
less because  he  could  not  part  with  his  money.  Not  seek- 
ing profitable  investments,  not  asking  for  ten  and  twenty 
per  cent.;  but  anxious  to  use  his  money  for  the  best  pur- 
poses; a  man  who  was  a  philanthropist  in  the  abstract, 
who  considered  himself  the  trustee  of  a  gigantic  gift  to 
the  human  race,  and  was  desirous  of  exercising  that  trust 
to  the  best  advantage. 

In  London;  and  at  the  same  time,  in  the  same  city, 
thousands  of  people  not  only  representing  their  individual 
distresses  or  their  society's  wants,  but  also  plans,  schemes, 
and  ideas  for  the  promotion  of  civilisation  in  the  abstract. 
Do  we  not  all  know  the  projectors  ?  I  myself  know  at 
this  moment  six  men  who  want  each  to  establish  a  daily 
paper;  at  least  a  dozen  who  would  like  a  weekly;  fifty 
who  see  a  way,  by  the  formation  of  a  new  society,  to  check 
immorality,  kill  infidelity  once  for  all,  make  men  sober  and 
women  clean,  prevent  strikes  and  destroy  Republicanism. 
There  is  one  man  who  would  "  save  "  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land by  establishing  the  preaching  order;  one  who  knows 
how  to  restore  England  to  her  place  among  the  nations 
without  a  single  additional  soldier;  one  who  burns  to 
abolish  bishops*  aprons,  and  would  make  it  penal  to 
preach  in  a  black  gown.  The  land  teems  with  idea'd  men. 
They  yearn,  pray,  and  sigh  daily  for  the  capitalist  who  will 
reduce  their  idea  to  practice. 

And  besides  the  projectors,  there  are  the  inventors.  I 
once  knew  a  man  who  claimed  to  have  invented  a  means 
for  embarking  and  setting  down  passengers  and  goods  on 
a  railway  without  stopping  the  trains.     Think  of  the  con- 


404  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

venience  Why  no  railways  have  taken  up  the  invention, 
I  cannot  explain.  Then  there  are  men  who  have  inven- 
tions which  will  reform  the  whole  system  of  domestic  appli- 
ances; there  are  others  who  are  prepared  on  encourage- 
ment to  reform  the  whole  conduct  of  life  by  new  inven- 
tions. There  are  men  by  thousands  brooding  over  exper- 
iments which  they  have  no  money  to  carry  out;  there  are 
men  longing  to  carry  on  experiments  whose  previous 
faihire  they  can  now  account  for.  All  these  men  are  look- 
ing for  a  capitalist  as  for  a  Messiah.  Had  they  known — 
had  they  but  dimly  suspected — that  such  a  capitalist  was 
in  June  of  last  year  staying  at  the  Langham  Hotel,  they 
would  have  sought  that  hotel  with  one  consent,  and  be- 
sieged its  portals.  The  world  in  general  did  not  know 
Mr.  Beck's  resources.  But  they  were  beginning  to  find 
him  out.  The  voice  of  rumour  was  spreading  abroad  his 
reputation.  And  the  people  wrote  letters,  sent  circulars, 
and  called 

"  Twenty-three  of  them  came  yesterday  morning," 
Gilead  Beck  complained  to  Jack  Dunquerque.  '  Three- 
and-twenty.  and  all  with  a  tale  to  tell.  No,  sir,"' — his  voice 
rose  in  indignation — "  I  did  not  give  one  of  them  so  much 
as  a  quarter-dollar.  The  Luck  of  the  Golden  Butterfly  is 
not  to  be  squandered  among  the  well-dressed  beggars  of 
Great  Britain.  Three-and-twenty,  counting  one  little  boy, 
who  came  by  himself.  His  mother  was  a  widow,  he  said, 
and  he  sat  on  the  chair  and  sniffed.  And  they  all  wanted 
money.  There  was  one  man  in  a  white  choker  who  had 
found  out  a  new  channel  for  doing  good — and  one  man 
who  wished  to  recommend  a  list  of  orphans.  The  rest 
were  women.  And  talk?  There's  no  name  for  it.  With 
little  books,  and  pencils,  and  bundles  of  tracts." 

While  he  spoke  there  was  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door. 

"  There's  another  of  them  "  he  groaned.  "  Stand  by 
me,  Mr.  Dunquerque.  See  me  through  with  it.  Come 
in,  come  in  !  Good  Lord  !"  he  whispered,  **  a  brace  this 
time.    Will  you  tackle  the  young  one,  Mr.  Dunquerque  ?" 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  405 

A  pair  of  ladies.     One  of  them  a  lady  tall  and  thin, 
stern  of  aspect,  sharp  of  feature,  eager  of  expression.  She 
wore  spectacles:  she  was  apparently  careless  of  her  dress, 
which  was  of  black  silk  a  little  rusty.     With  her  was  a  girl 
of  about  eighteen,  perhaps    her    daughter,  perhaps  her 
niece;  a  girl  of  rather  sharp  but  pretty  features,  marked 
by  a  look  of  determination,  as  if  she  meant  to  see  the  bot- 
tom of  this  business,  or  know  the  reason  why. 
"You  are  Mr.  Beck,  sir?"  the  elder  lady  began, 
"lam  Gilead  P.  Beck,  madam,"  he  replied. 
He  was   standing  before  the  fireplace,  with  his  long 
hands   thrust   into  his   pocket,  one  foot  on  an   adjacent 
chair,  and  his  head  thrown  a  little  back — defiantly. 

"  You  have  received  two  letter^  from  me,  Mr,  Beck, 
written  by  my  own  hand,  and — how  many  circulars, 
child  ? ' 

"  Twenty,"  said  the  girl. 

"And  I  have  had  no  answer,  I  am  come  for  your 
answer,  Mr.  Beck.  We  will  sit  down,  if  you  please,  while 
you  consider  your  answer." 

Mr.  Beck  took  up  a  waste  paper  basket  which  stood 
at  his  feet,  and  tossed  out  the  whole  contents  upon 
the  table. 

Those  are  the  letters  of  yesterday  and  to-day,"  he  said. 
"  What  was  yours,  madam  ?    Was  it  a   letter  asking  for 
money  ?" 
"  It  was." 

"  Yesterday  there  were  seventy-four  letters  asking 
for  money.  To-day  there  are  only  fifty-two.  May  I 
ask,  madam,  if  you  air  the  widow  who  wants  money  to  run 
a  mangle  ? " 

"  Sir,  I  am  unmarried.    A  mangle  !  " 
He  dug  his  hand  into  the  pile,  and  took  out   one  at 
random. 

"  You  air,  perhaps,  the  young  lady  who  writes  to  know 
if  I  want  a  housekeeper,  and  encloses  her  carte-de-visite  ? 
No  ;  that  won't  do.     Is  it  possible  you  are  the  daughter 


4o6  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

of  the  Confederate  general  who  lost  his  life  in  the 
cause  ?" 

"  Really,  sir  !" 

"  Then,  madam,  we  come  to  the  lady  who  " — here  he 
read  from  another  letter — "who  was  once  a  gover- 
ness, and  now  is  reduced  to  sell  her  last  remaining  gar- 
ments." 

"  Sir !" 

There  was  a  withering  scorn  on  the  lady's  lips. 

"  I  represent  a  Cause,  Mr.  Beck.  I  am  not  a  beggar 
for  myself.  My  cause  is  the  sacred  one  of  Womanhood. 
You,  sir,  in  your  free  and  happy  Republic  " 

Mr.  Beck  bowed. 

"  Have  seen  woman  partially  restored  to  her  proper 
place — on  a  level  with  man." 

"  A  higher  level,"  murmured  the  girl,  who  had  far-off 
eyes  and  a  sweet  voice.  "  The  higher  level  reached  by  the 
purer  heart." 

"  Only  partially  restored  at  present.  But  the  good  work 
goes  on.  Here  we  are  only  beginning.  Mr.  Beck,  the 
Cause  wants  help — your  help." 

He  said  nothing  and  she  went  on. 

"  We  want  our  rights  ;  we  want  suffrage  ;  we  want  to 
be  elected  for  the  Houses  of  Parliament  ;  we  insist  on 
equality  in  following  the  professions  and  in  enjoying  the 
endowments  of  Education.  We  shall  prove  that  we  are 
no  whit  inferior  to  men.  We  want  no  privileges.  Let  us 
stand  by  ourselves." 

"Wal,  madam,  their  air  helpers  who  shove  up,  and  I 
guess  there  air  helpers  who  shove  down." 

She  did  not  understand  him,  and  went  on  with  increas- 
ing volubility. 

"  The  subjection  of  the  Sex  is  the  most  monstrous  in- 
justice of  all  those  which  blot  the  fair  fame  of  manhood. 
What  is  there  in  man's  physical  strength  that  he  should 
use  it  to  lord  over  the  weaker  half  of  humanity?  Why 
has  not  our  sex  produced  a  Shakespeare  ?" 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY,  407 

•*  It  has,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Beck  gravely.  "  It  has  pro- 
duced all  our  greatest  men." 

She  was  staggered. 

"  Your  answer,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Beck." 

"  I  have  no  answer,  madam." 

"  I  have  written  you  two  letters,  and  sent  you  twenty 
circulars,  urging  upon  you  the  claims  of  the  Woman's 
Rights  Association.  I  have  the  right  to  ask  for  a  reply. 
I  expect  one.  You  will  be  kind  enough  sir,  to  give  cate- 
gorically your  answer  to  the  several  heads.  This  you  will 
do  of  your  courtesy  to  a  lady.  We  can  wait  here  while 
you  write  it.  I  shall  probably,  I  ought  to  tell  you,  pub- 
lish it." 

**  We  can  wait,"  said  the  young  lady. 

They  sat  with  folded  hands  in  silence. 

Mr.  Beck  shifted  his  foot  from  the  chair  to  the  carpet. 
Then  he  took  his  hands  out  of  his  pockets  and  stroked  his 
chin.     Then  he  gazed  at  the  ladies  steadily. 

Jack  Dunquerque  sat  in  the  background,  and  rendered 
no  help  whatever. 

"  Did  you  ever,  ladies,  asked  Mr.  Beck,  after  a  few  mo- 
ments of  reflection,  "  hear  of  Paul  Deroon  of  Memphis  ? 
He  was  the  wickedest  man  in  that  city.  Which  was 
allowed.  He  kept  a  bar  where  the  whisky  was  straight 
and  the  language  was  free,  and  where  Paul  would  tell 
stories,  once  you  set  him  on,  calculated  to  raise  on  end  the 
hair  of  your  best  sofa.  When  the  Crusade  began — I 
mean  the  Whisky  Crusade — the  ladies  naturally  began 
with  Paul  Deroon's  saloon." 

"  This  is  very  tedious,  my  dear,"  said  the  elder  lady  in 
aloud  whisper. 

"  How  did  Paul  Deroon  behave  ?  Some  barkeepers 
came  out  and  cursed  while  the  Whisky  War  went  on; 
some  gave  in  and  poured  away  the  Bourbon:  some  shut 
up  shop  and  took  to  preachin.'  Paul  just  did  nothing. 
You  couldn't  tell  from  Paul's  face  that  he  even  knew  or 
the  forty  women  around  him  prayin'  all  together.     If  he 


408  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

Stepped  outside  he  walked  through  as  if  they  weren't 
there,  and  they  made  a  lane  for  him.  If  he'd  been  blind 
and  deaf  and  dumb,  Paul  Deroon  couldn't  have  taken  less 
notice." 

"We  shall  not  keep  our  appointment,  I  fear,"  the 
younger  lady  remarked. 

"  They  prayed,  preached,  and  sang  hymns  for  a  whole 
week.  On  Sunday  they  sang  eighty  strong.  And  on  the 
seventh  day  Paul  took  no  more  notice  than  on  the  first 
Once  they  asked  him  if  he  heard  the  singin.'  He  said  he 
did:  and  it  was  very  soothin'  and  pleasant.  Said,  toe, 
that  he  liked  music  to  his  drink.  Then  they  asked  him  if 
he  heard  the  prayers.  He  said  he  did;  said,  too,  that  it 
was  cool  work  sittin'  in  the  shade  and  listenin';  also  that 
it  kinder  seemed  as  if  it  was  bound  to  do  somebody  or 
other  good  some  day.  Then  they  told  him  that  the  ladies 
were  waitin'  to  see  him  converted.  He  said  it  was  very 
kind  of  them,  and,  for  his  own  part,  he  didn't  mind 
meetin'  their  wishes  half  way,  and  would  wait  as  long  as 
they  did." 

The  ladies  rose.  Said  the  elder  lady  viciously  :  "  You 
are  unworthy,  sir,  to  represent  your  great  country.  You 
are  a  common  scoffer." 

"  General  Schenck  represents  my  country,  madam." 

"  You  are  unworthy  of  being  associated  with  a  great 
Cause.     We  have  wasted  our  time  upon  you." 

Their  departure  was  less  dignified  than  their  entry. 

As  they  left  the  room  another  visitor  arrived.  It  was  a 
tall  and  handsome  man,  with  a  full  flowing  beard  and  a 
genial  presence. 

He  had  a  loud  voice  and  a  commanding  manner. 

"  Mr.  Beck  ?  I  thought  so.  I  wrote  to  you  yesterday, 
Mr.  Beck.  And  I  am  come  in  person — in  person,  sir — for 
your  reply." 

"You  air  the  gentleman,  sir,  interested  in  the  orphan 
children  of  a  colonial  bishop  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  am  not.     Nothing  of  the  kind." 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  409 

"  Then  you  air  perhaps  the  gentleman  who  wrote  to  say 
that  unless  I  sent  him  a  ten-pound  note  by  return  of  post 
he  would  blow  out  his  brains  ?" 

"  I  am  Major  Borington.  I  wrote  to  you,  sir,  on  behalf 
of  the  Grand  National  Movement  for  erecting  Interna- 
tional Statues." 

"  What  is  that  movement,  sir  ?" 

"  A  series  of  monuments  to  all  our  great  men,  Mr. 
Beck.  America  and  England,  have  ancestors  in  common. 
We  have  our  Shakespeare,  sir,  our  Milton." 

"  Yes,  sir,  so  I  have  heard.  I  did  not  know  those  an- 
cestors myself,  having  been  born  too  late,  and  therefore  I 
do  not  take  that  interest  in  their  stone  figures  you  do." 

**  Positively,  Mr.  Beck,  you  must  join  us." 

*'  It  is  your  idea,  Colonel,  is  it  ?" 

"  Mine,  Mr.  Beck.     I  am  proud  to  say  it  is  my  own." 

"  I  knew  a  man  once.  Colonel,  in  my  country,  who 
wanted  to  be  a  great  man.  He  had  that  ambition,  sir. 
He  wasn't  particular  how  he  got  his  greatness.  But  he 
scorned  to  die  and  be  forgotten,  and  he  yearned  to  go 
down  to  posterity.  His  name,  sir,  was  Hiram  Turtle. 
First  of  all,  he  ambitioned  military  greatness.  We  went 
into  Bull's  Run  together.  And  we  came  out  of  it  to- 
gether. We  came  away  from  that  field  side  by  side.  We 
left  our  guns  there,  too.  If  we  had  had  shields,  we  should 
have  left  them  as  well.  Hiram  concluded,  sir,  after  that 
experience,  to  leave  military  greatness  to  others." 

Major  Borington  interposed  a  gesture. 

"  One  moment.  Brigadier.  The  connection  is  coming. 
Hiram  Turtle  thought  the  ministry  opened  up  a  field.  So 
he  became  a  preacher.  Yes  ;  he  preached  once.  But  he 
forgot  that  a  preacher  must  have  something  to  say,  and 
so  the  elders  concluded  not  to  ask  Hiram  Turtle  any 
more.  Then  he  became  clerk  in  a  store  while  he  looked 
about  him.  For  a  year  or  two  he  wrote  poetry.  But  the 
papers  in  America,  he  found,  were  in  a  league  against 
genius.     So  he  gave  up  that  lay.     Politics  was  his  next 


4IO  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

move  ;  and  he  went  for  stump-orating  with  the  Presidency 
in  his  eye.  Stumpin'  offers  amusement  as  well  as  gentle 
exercise,  but  it  doesn't  pay  unless  you  get  more  than  one 
brace  of  niggers  and  a  bubbly-jock  to  listen.  Wal,  sir, 
how  do  you  think  Hiram  Turtle  made  his  greatness  ?  He 
figured  around,  sir,  with  a  List,  and  his  own  name  a-top, 
for  a  Grand  National  Monument  to  the  memory  of  the 
great  men  who  fell  in  the  Civil  War.  They  air  still  sub- 
scribing, and  Hiram  Turtle  is  the  great  Patriot.  Now, 
General,  you  see  the  connection." 

"  If  you  mean,  sir,"  cried  Major  Borington,  "  to  imply 
that  my  motives  are  interested  ''' 

"  Not  at  all,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Beck  ;  "  I  have  told  you  a 
little  story.  Hiram  Turtle's  was  a  remarkable  case.  Per- 
haps you  might  ponder  on  it." 

"Your  language  is  insulting,  sir  !" 

"Colonel,  this  is  not  a  country  where  men  have  to  take 
care  what  they  say.  But  if  you  should  ever  pay  a  visit 
out  West,  and  if  you  should  happen  to  be  about  where 
tar  and  feathers  are  cheap,  you  would  really  be  astonished 
at  the  consideration  you  would  receive.  No,  sir,  I  shall 
not  subscribe  to  your  Grand  National  Association.  But 
go  on.  Captain,  go  on.  This  is  a  charitable  country,  and 
the  people  haven't  all  heard  the  story  of  Hiram  Turtle. 
And  what'll  you  take,  Major?" 

But  Major  Borington,  clapping  on  his  hat,  stalked  out 
of  the  room. 

The  visits  of  the  strong-minded  female  and  Major 
Borington  which  were  typical,  took  place  on  the  day  which 
was  the  first  and  only  occasion  on  which  Phillis  went  to 
the  theatre.  Gilead  Beck  took  the  box,  and  they  went — 
Jack  Du'nquerque  being  himself  the  fourth,  as  they  say  in 
Greek  exercise-books — to  the  Lyceum,  and  saw  Henry 
Irving  play  Hamlet. 

Phillis  brought  to  the  play  none  of  the  reverence  with 
which  English  people  habitually  approach  Shakespeare, 
insomuch   that  while   we  make   superhuman   efforts  to 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  411 

understand  him  we  have  lost  the  power  of  criticism.  To 
her,  George  III.'s  remark  that  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
rubbish  in  Shaksspeare  would  have  seemed  a  perfectly 
legitimate  conclusion.  But  she  knew  nothing  about  the 
great  dramatist. 

The  house,  with  its  decorations,  lights,  and  crowd, 
pleased  her.  She  liked  the  overture,  and  she  waited  with 
patience  for  the  first  scene.  She  was  going  to  see  a  rep- 
resentation of  life  done  in  show.  So  much  she  under- 
stood. Instead  of  telling  a  story  the  players  would  act 
the  story. 

The  Ghost — perhaps  because  the  Lyceum  Ghost  was 
so  palpably  flesh  and  blood — inspired  her  with  no  terror 
at  all.  But  gradually  the  story  grew  into  her,  and  she 
watched  the  unfortunate  Prince  of  Denmark  torn  by  his 
conflicting  emotions,  distraught  with  the  horror  of  the 
deed  that  had  been  done  and  the  deed  that  was  to  do, 
with  a  beating  heart  and  trembling  lip.  When  Hamlet 
with  that  wild  cry  threw  himself  upon  his  uncle's  throne, 
she  gasped  and  caught  Agatha  by  the  hand.  When  the 
play  upon  the  stage  showed  the  King  how  much  of  the 
truth  was  known,  she  trembled,  and  looked  to  see  him 
immediately  confess  his  crime  and  go  out  to  be  hanged. 
She  was  indignant  with  Hamlet  for  the  slaughter  of  Polo- 
nius ;  she  was  contemptuous  of  Ophelia,  whom  she  did 
not  understand  ;  and  she  was  impatient  when  the  two 
Gravediggers  came  to  the  front,  resolute  to  spare  the 
audience  none  of  their  somewhat  musty  old  jokes  and  to 
abate  nothing  of  the  stage-business. 

When  they  left  the  theatre  Phillis  moved  and  spoke  as 
in  a  dream.  War,  battle,  conspiracy,  murder,  crime — all 
these  things,  of  which  her  guardian  had  told  her,  she 
saw  presented  before  her  on  the  stage.  She  had  too  much 
to  think  of;  she  had  to  fit  all  these  new  surroundings  in 
her  mind  with  the  stories  of  the  past.  As  for  the  actors, 
she  had  no  power  whatever  of  distinguishing  between 
them  and   the    parts   they  played.     Irving   was    Hamlet; 


412  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

Miss  Bateman  was  Ophelia;  and  they  were  all  like  the 
figures  of  a  dream,  because  she  did  not  understand  how 
they  could  be  anything  but  Hamlet,  Ophelia,  and  the 
Court  of  Denmark. 

And  this,  too,  was  part  of  her  education. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

"  Love  In  her  eyes  lay  hiding, 
His  time  in  patience  biding." 

"  O  QUARE    it   with    Colquhoun    before    you    go  any 

O     farther,"  said  Ladds. 

Square  it  with  the  guardian — speak  to  the  young  lady's 
father — make  it  all  right  with  the  authorities;  what  excel- 
lent advice  to  give,  and  how  easy  to  follow  it  up  !  Who 
does  not  look  forward  with  pleasure,  or  backward  as  to  an 
agreeable  reminiscence,  to  that  half  hour  spent  in  a  confi- 
dential talk  with  dear  papa?  How  calmly  ciitical,  how 
severely  judicial,  was  his  summing  up  !  With  what  a  de- 
termined air  did  he  follow  up  the  trail,  elicited  in  cross- 
examination,  of  former  sins  !  With  how  keen  a  scent  did 
he  disinter  forgotten  follies,  call  attention  to  bygone  ex- 
travagances, or  place  the  finger  of  censure  upon  debts 
which  never  ought  to  have  been  incurred,  and  economies 
which  ought  to  have  been  made  ! 

Remember  his  "  finally " — a  word  which  from  child- 
hood has  been  associated  with  sweet  memories,  because  it 
brings  the  sermon  to  an  end,  but  which  henceforth  will 
awake  in  your  brain  the  ghost  of  that  mauvais  quart  (Theure. 
in  that  brief  peroration  he  tore  the  veil  from  the  last  cher- 
ished morsel  of  self-illusion;  he  showed  you  that  the  fur- 
nishing of  a  house  was  a  costly  business,  that  he  was  not 
going  to  do  it  for  you,  that  servants  require  an  annual  in- 
come of  considerable  extent,  that  his  daughter  had  been 
brought  up  a  lady,  that  lady's  dress  is  a  serious  affair,  that 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  413 

wedlock  in  due  season  brings  babies,  and  that  he  was  not 
so  rich  as  he  seemed. 

Well,  perhaps  he  said  "  Yes "  reluctantly,  in  spite  of 
drawbacks.  Then  you  felt  that  you  were  regarded  by  the 
rest  of  the  family  as  the  means  of  preventing  dear  Anna- 
bella  from  making  a  brilliant  match.  That  humbled  you 
for  life.  Or  perhaps  he  said  "  No."  In  that  case  you 
went  away  sadly  and  meditated  suicide.  And  whether 
you  got  over  the  fit,  or  whether  you  didn't — though  of 
course  you  did — the  chances  were  that  Annabella  never 
married  at  all,  and  you  are  still  regarded  by  the  family  as 
the  cause  of  that  sweet  creature  not  making  the  excep- 
tionally splendid  alliance  which,  but  for  you,  the  disturb- 
ing influence,  would  have  been  her  lot. 

However,  the  thing  is  necessary,  unless  people  run 
away,  a  good  old  fashion  by  which  such  interviews,  to- 
gether with  wedding-breakfasts,  wedding-garments,  and 
wedding-presents  were  avoided. 

Running  away  is  out  of  fashion.  It  would  have  been 
the  worst  form  possible  in  Jack  Dunquerque  even  to  pro 
pose  such  a  thing  to  Phillis,  and  I  am  not  at  all  certain 
that  he  would  ever  have  made  her  understand  either  the 
necessity  or  the  romance  of  the  thing.  And  I  am  quite 
sure  that  she  would  never  understand  that  Jack  Dun- 
querque was  asking  her  to  do  a  wrong  thing. 

Certainly  it  was  not  likely  that  this  young  man  would 
proceed  further  in  the  path  of  irregularity — which  leads 
Lo  repentance — than  he  had  hitherto  done.  He  had  now 
to  confess  before  the  young  lady's  guardian  something  of 
the  part  he  played. 

Looked  at  dispassionately,  and  unsoftened  by  the 
haze  of  illusion,  this  part  had,  as  he  acknowledged  with 
groans,  an  appearance  far  from  pleasing  to  the  Christian 
moralist. 

He  had  taken  advantage  of  the  girl's  total  ignorance  to 
introduce  himself  at  the  house  where  she  was  practically 
alone  for  the  whole   day;  he  found   her  like  a  child  in 


414  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

the  absence  of  the  reserve  which  girls  are  trained  to; 
he  stepped  at  once  into  the  position  of  a  confidential 
friend  ;  he  took  her  about  for  walks  and  drives,  a  thing 
which  might  have  compromised  her  seriously  ;  he  allowed 
Joseph  Jagenal,  without,  it  is  true,  stating  it  in  so  many 
words,  to  believe  him  an  old  friend  of  Phillis's  ;  he  fol- 
lowed her  to  Twickenham  and  installed  himself  at  Mrs. 
L'Estrange's  as  an  ami  de  famille  s  he  had  done  so  much 
to  make  the  girl's  life  bright  and  happy,  he  was  so  dear 
to  her,  that  he  felt  there  was  but  one  step  to  be  taken  to 
pass  from  a  brother  to  a  lover. 

It  was  a  black  record  to  look  at,  and  it  was  poor  conso- 
lation to  think  that  any  other  man  would  have  done  the 
same. 

Jack  Dunquerque,  like  Phillis  herself,  was  changed 
within  a  month.  Somehow  the  fun  and  carelessness 
which  struck  Gilead  Beck  as  so  remarkable  in  a  man  of 
five-and -twenty  were  a  good  deal  damped.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  was  serious  ;  for  the  first  time  he  had  a 
serious  and  definite  object  before  him.  He  was  perfectly 
serious  in  an  unbounded  love  for  Phillis.  Day  by  day  the 
sweet  beauty  of  the  girl,  her  grace,  her  simple  faith,  her 
child-like  affection,  sank  into  his  heart  and  softened  him. 
Day  after  day,  as  he  rowed  along  the  meadows  of  the 
Thames,  or  lazied  under  the  hanging  willows  by  the 
shore,  or  sat  with  her  in  the  garden,  or  rode  along  the 
leafy  roads  by  her  side,  the  sincerity  of  her  nature,  as 
clear  and  cloudless  as  the  blue  depths  of  heaven  ;  its 
purity,  like  the  bright  water  that  leaps  and  bubbles  and 
flows  beneath  the  shade  of  Lebanon  ;  its  perfect  truthful- 
ness, like  the  midday  sunshine  in  June  ;  the  innocence 
with  which,  even  as  another  Eve,  she  bared  her  very  soul 
for  him  to  read — these  things,  when  he  thought  of  them, 
brought  the  unaccustomed  tears  to  his  eyes,  and  made 
his  spirit  rise  and  bound  within  him  as  to  unheard  of 
heights.  For  love,  to  an  honest  man,  is  like  Nature  to  a 
poet  or  colour  to  an  artist — it  makes  him  see   great 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLV.  415 

depths,  and  gives  him,  if  only  for  once  in  his  life,  a  Pis- 
gah  view  of  a  Land  far,  far  holier,  a  life  far,  far  higher,  a 
condition  far,  far  sweeter  and  nobler  than  anything  in 
this  world  can  give  us — except  the  love  of  a  good  woman. 
In  such  a  vision  the  ordinary  course  of  our  life  is  sus- 
pended ;  we  move  on  air  ;  we  see  men  as  trees  walking, 
;ind  regard  them  not.  Happy  tlie  man  who  once  in  his 
life  has  been  so  lifted  out  of  the  present,  and  knows  not 
afterwards  whether  he  was  in  the  flesh  or  out  of  the  fiesh. 
Jack,  with  the  influence  of  this  great  passion  upon  him, 
was  transformed  Fortunately  for  us  this  emotion  had  its 
ebb  and  flow.  Else  that  great  dinner  to  Literature  had 
never  come  off.  But  at  all  times  he  was  under  its  sober- 
ing influence.  And  it  was  in  a  penitent  and  humble 
mo6d  that  he  sought  Lawrence  Colquhoun,  in  the  hope 
of  "squaring  it  "  with  him  as  Ladds  advised.  Good  fel- 
low. Tommy;  none  better;  but  wanting  in  the  higher 
delicacy.  Somehow  the  common  words  and  phrases  of 
every-day  use  applied  to  Phillis  jarred  upon  him.  After 
all,  one  feels  a  difficulty  in  offering  a  princess  the  change 
for  a  shilling  in  coppers.  If  I  had  to  do  it,  I  should  fall 
back  on  a  draught  upon  the  Cheque  Bank. 

Lawrence  was  full  of  his  own  annoyances — most  of  us 
always  are,  and  it  is  one  of  the  less  understood  ills  of  life 
that  one  can  never  get,  even  for  five  minutes,  a  Monop- 
oly of  Complaint  But  he  listened  patiently  while  Jack 
— Jack  of  the  Rueful  Countenance — poured  out  his  tale 
of  repentance,  woe,  and  prayer. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  winding  up,  "  I  never  thought 
what  it  would  come  to.     I  dropped  into  it  by  accident, 

and  then — then" 

"  When  people  come  to  flirt  they  stay  to  spoon,"  said 
Lawrence.  "  In  other  words,  my  dear  fellow,  you  are  in 
love.     Ah  !" 

Jack  wondered  what  was  meant  by  the  interjection.  In 
all  the  list  of  interjections  given  by  Lindley  Murray,  of 
the  new  light  Dr  Morris,  such  as  Pish  !  Phaw !     Alas ! 


4l6  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

Humph  I  and  the  rest  which  are  in  everybody's  mouth, 
there  is  none  which  blows  with  such  an  uncertain  sound 
as  this.  Impossible  to  tell  whether  it  means  encourage- 
ment, sympathy,  or  cold  distrust. 

"  Ah  !"  said  Lawrence.  "  Sit  down  and  be  comfortable, 
Jack.  When  one  is  really  worried,  nothing  like  a  perfect 
chair.     Take  my  own.     Now,  then,  let  us  talk  it  over." 

"  It  doesn't  look  well,"  thought  Jack. 

"  Always  face  the  situation,"  said  Lawrence  (he  had  got 
an  uncommonly  awkward  situation  of  his  own  to  face,  and 
it  was  a  little  relief  to  turn  to  some  one  else's).  *'  Nothing 
done  by  blinking  facts,  Here  we  are.  Young  lady  of 
eighteen  or  so — just  released  from  a  convent;  ignorant  of 
the  world;  pretty;  attractive  ways;  rich,  as  girls  go — on 
the  one  hand.  On  the  other,  you  :  good-looking,  as  my 
cousin  Agatha  L'Estrange  says,  though  I  can't  see  it;  of 
a  cheerful  disposition — aptus  ludere,  fit  to  play,  cum  i>uelld, 
all  the  day  " 

*'  Don't  chaff,  Colquhoun  ;  it's  too  serious.' 

But  Colquhoun  went  on  : 

"An  inflammable  young  man.  Well,  with  any  other 
girl  the  danger  would  have  been  seen  at  once  ;  poor  Phil- 
lis  is  so  innocent  that  she  is  supposed  to  be  quite  safe. 
So  you  go  on  calling.  My  cousin  Agatha  writes  me  word 
that  she  has  been  looking  for  the  light  of  love,  as  she 
calls  it,  in  Phillis's  eyes  ;  and  it  isn't  there.  She  is  a  sen- 
timentalist, and  therefore  silly.  Why  didn't  she  look  in 
your  eyes.  Jack  ?  That  would  have  been  very  much  more 
to  the  purpose." 

"  She  has,  now.  I  told  her  yesterday  that  I — I — loved 
Phillis." 

"  Did  she  ask  you  to  take  the  young  lady's  hand  and  a 
blessing  at  once  ?  Come,  Jack,  look  at  the  thing  sen- 
sibly. There  are  two  or  three  very  strong  reasons  why  it 
can't  be." 

"  Why  it  can't  be  !  "  echoed  Jack  dolefully. 

"  First,  the  girl   hasn't   come  out.     Now,    I  ask   you, 

\* 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  417 

would  it  not  be  simply  sinful  not  to  give  her  a  fair  run  ? 
In  any  case  you  could  not  be  engaged  till  after  she  has 
had  one  season.  Then  her  father,  who  did  not  forget 
that  he  was  grandson  of  a  Peer,  wanted  his  daughter  to 
make  a  good  match,  and  always  spoke  of  the  fortune  he 
was  to  leave  her  as  a  guarantee  that  she  would  marry  well. 
He  never  thought  he  was  going  to  die,  of  course;  but  all 
events  I  know  so  much  of  his  wishes.  Lastly,  my  dear 
Jack  Dunquerque,  you  are  the  best  fellow  in  the  world, 
but,  you  know— but  " 

"  But  I  am  not  Lord  Isleworth," 

"  That  is  just  it.  You  are  his  lordship's  younger  brother, 
with  one  or  two  between  you  and  the  title.  Now  don't 
you  see  ?     Need  we  talk  about  it  any  more  ?" 

"  I  suppose  Phil — I  mean  Miss  Fleming — will  be  allowed 
to  choose  for  herself.  You  are  not  going  to  make  hei 
marry  a  man  because  he  happens  to  have  a  title  and  an 
estate,  and  offers  himself?" 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Lawrence,  laughing,  "  that  I  am  go 
ing  to  lock  Phillis  up  in  a  tower  until  the  right  man  comes. 
No,  no.  Jack  ;  there  shall  be  no  compulsion.  If  she  sets 
her  heart  upon  marrying  you — she  is  a  downright  young 
lady — why,  she  must  do  it;  but  after  she  has  had  her  run 
among  the  ball-rooms,  not  before.  Let  her  take  a  look 
round  first  ;  there  will  be  other  Jack  Dunquerques  ready 
to  look  at,  be  sure  of  that.  Perhaps  she  will  think  them 
fairer  to  outward  view  than  you.  If  she  does,  you  will 
have  to  give  her  up  in  the  end,  you  know." 

"  I  have  said  no  word  of  love  to  her,  Colquhoun,  I  give 
you  my  honour,"  said  Jack  hotly,  "  I  don't  think  she 
would  understand  it  if  I  did." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that  at  least." 

"If  I  am  to  give  her  up  and  go  away,  I  dare  say,"  the  poor 
youth  went  on,  with  a  little  choking  in  his  throat,  "  that 
she  will  regret  me  at  first  and  for  a  day  or  two.  But  she 
will  get  over  that;  and — as  you  say,  there  are  plenty 
of    fellows  in  the    world  better  than  myself — and  " « 


41 8  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  My  dear  Jack,  there  will  be  no  going  away. 
You  tell  me  you  have  not  told  her  all  the  effect 
that  her  beaux  yeux  have  produced  upon  you.  Well, 
then — and  there  has  been  nothing  to  compromise  her 
at  all?" 

"  Nothing  ;  that  is,  once  we  went  to  the  Tower  in  a 
hansom  cab." 

"  Oh,  that  is  all,  is  it  ?  Jack  Dunquerque — Jack 
Dunquerque !" 

"And  we  have  been  up  the  river  a  good  many  times  in 
a  boat," 

"  I  see.  The  river  is  pleasant  at  this  time  of  the 
year." 

**  And  we  have  been  riding  together  a  good  deal,  Phil 
rides  very  well,  you  know." 

"  Does  she  ?  It  seems  to  me,  Jack,  that  my  cousin 
Agatha  is  a  fool,  and  that  you  have  been  having  rather  a 
high  time  in  consequence.  Surely  you  can't  complain  if  I 
ask  you  to  consider  the  innings  over  for  the  present  ?" 

"No;  I  can't  complain,  if  one  may  hope  " 

"  Let  us  hope  nothing.  Sufficient  for  the  day.  He  who 
hopes  nothing  gets  everything.  Come  out  of  it  at  once, 
Jack,  before  you  get  hit  too  hard." 

"  I  think  no  one  was  ever  hit  so  hard  before,"  said 
Jack,  "  Colquhoun,  you  don't  know  your  ward.  It 
is  impossible  for  any  one  to  be  with  her  without  fall- 
ing in   love  with  her.       She  is  " Here  he  stopped, 

because  he  could  not  go  any  farther.  Anybody  who 
did  not  know  the  manly  nature  of  Jack  Dunquerque 
might  have  thought  he  was  stopped  by  emotion. 

"  AVe  all  get  the  fever  some  time  or  other.  But  we 
worry  through.  Look  at  me,  Jack.  I  am  forty,  and,  as 
you  see,  a  comparatively  hale  and  hearty  man,  despite  my 
years.  It  doesn't  shorten  life,  that  kind  of  fever;  it  doesn't 
take  away  appetite;  it  doesn't  interfere  with  your  powers  of 
enjoyment.  There  is  even  a  luxury  about  it.  You  can't 
remember  Geraldine  Arundale,  now  Lady  Newladegge, 


THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  419 

when  she  came  out,  of  course.  You  were  getting  ready 
for  Eton  about  that  time.  Well,  she  and  I  carried  on  for 
a  whole  season.  People  talked.  Then  she  got  engaged 
to  her  present  husband,  after  seeing  him  twice.  She  want- 
ed a  Title,  you  see.  I  was  very  bad,  that  journey;  and  I 
remember  that  Agatha,  who  was  in  my  confidence,  had  a 
hot  time  of  it  over  the  faithlessness  of  shallow  hearts. 
But  I  got  over  the  attack,  and  I  have  not  been  dangerous- 
ly ill,  so  to  speak  since.  Thai  is,  I  have  made  a  contempt- 
ible ass  of  myself  on  several  occasions,  and  I  dare  say  I 
shall  go  on  making  an  ass  of  myself  as  long  as  I  live. 
Because  the  older  you  grow,  somehow,  the  sweeter  do  the 
flowers  smell." 

Jack  only  groaned.  It  really  is  no  kind  of  consolation 
to  tell  a  suffering  man  that  you  have  gone  through  it  your- 
self. Gilead  Beck  told  me  once  of  a  man  who  lived  in 
one  of  the  Southern  States  of  America :  he  was  a  mild, 
and  placid  creature,  inoffensive  as  a  canary  bird,  quiet  as 
a  mongoose,  and  much  esteemed  for  his  unusual  meekness. 
This  harmless  being  once  got  ear-ache — very  bad  ear-ache. 
Boyhood's  ear-aches  are  awful  things  to  remember;  but 
those  of  manhood,  when  they  do  come,  which  is  seldom, 
are  the  Devil.  To  him  in  agony  came  a  friend,  who  sat 
down  beside  him,  like  Eliphaz  the  Temanite,  and  sighed. 
This  the  harmless  being  who  had  the  ear-ache  put  up 
with,  though  it  was  irritating.  Presently  the  friend  began 
to  relate  how  he  once  had  the  ear-ache  himself.  Then 
the  harmless  creature  rose  up  suddenly,  and,  seizing  an 
adjacent  chunk  of  wood,  gave  that  friend  a  token  of 
friendship  on  the  head  with  such  effect  that  he  ceased  the 
telling  of  that  and  all  other  stories,  and  has  remained 
quite  dumb  ever  since.  The  jury  acquitted  that  inoffen- 
sive and  meek  creature,  who  wept  when  the  ear-ache  was 
gone,  and  often  laid  flowers  on  the  grave  of  his  departed 
friend. 

Jack  did  not  heave  chunks  of  wood  at  Colquhoun.     He 
only  looked  at  him  with  ineffable  contempt. 


420  THE   GOLDEN  BUTtERFLY. 

"  Lady  Newladegge  !  why,  she's  five-and- thirty  !  and 
she's  fat  !  " 

"  She  wasn't  always  five-and-thirty,  nor  was  she  always 
fat.  On  the  contrary,  when  she  was  twenty,  and  I  was  in 
love  with  her,  she  was  slender,  and,  if  one  may  so  speak 
of  a  Peeress,  she  was  cuddlesome  !  " 

"  Cuddlesome  !  "  Jack  cried,  his  deepest  feelings  out- 
raged. "  Good  Heavens  !  to  think  of  comparing  Phil 
with  a  woman  who  was  once  cuddlesome  !  " 

Lawrence  Colquhoun  laughed. 

♦*  In  fifteen  years,  or  thereabouts,  perhaps  you  will  take 
much  the  same  view  of  things  as  I  do.  Meantime  Jack, 
let  things  remain  as  they  are.  You  shall  have  a  fair 
chance  with  the  rest ;  and  you  must  remember  that  you 
have  had  a  much  better  chance  than  anybody  else,  be- 
cause you  have  had  the  first  running.  Leave  off  going  to 
Twickenham  quite  so  much;  but  don't  stop  going  alto- 
gether, or  Phillis  may  be  led  to  suspect.  Can't  you  con- 
trive to  slack  off  by  degrees  ?" 

Jack  breathed  a  little  more  freely.  The  house,  then, 
was  not  shut  to  him. 

"  The  young  lady  will  have  her  first  season  next  year.  I 
don't  say  I  hope  she  will  marry  anybody  else,  Jack,  but  I 
am  bound  to  give  her  the  chance.  As  soon  as  she  really 
understands  a  little  more  of  life  she  will  find  out  for  her- 
self what  is  best  for  her,  perhaps.  Now  we've  talked 
enough  about  it." 

Jack  Dunquerque  went  away  sorrowful.  He  expected 
some  such  result  of  this  endeavour  to  "  square  "  it  with 
Colquhoun,  but  yet  he  was  disappointed. 

"  Hang  it  all,  Jack,"  said  Ladds,  "  what  can  you  want 
more  ?  You  are  told  to  wait  a  year.  No  one  will  step  in 
between  you  and  the  young  lady  till  she  comes  out.  You 
are  not  told  to  discontinue  your  visits — only  not  to  go  too 
often,  and  not  to  compromise  her.  What  more  does  the 
man  want  ? 

"  You  are  a  very   good  fellow,  Tommy,"   sighed   the 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  421 

lover;  "  a  very  good  fellow  in  the  main.  But  you  see,  you 
don't  know  Phil.  Let  me  call  her  Phil  to  you,  old  man. 
There's  not  another  man  in  the  world  that  I  £ou/d  talk 
about  her  to — not  one,  by  Jove;  it  would  seem  a  desecra- 
tion." 

"Go  on,  Jack — talk  away;  and  I'll  give  you  good 
advice." 

He  did  talk  away  !  What  says  Solomon  ?  "  Ointment 
and  perfume  rejoice  the  soul;  so  doth  the  sweetness  jf  a 
man's  friend  by  hearty  counsel."  The  Wise  Man  might 
have  expressed  himself  more  clearly,  but  his  meaning  can 
be  made  out. 

Meantime  Lawrence  Colquhoun,  pulling  himself  to- 
gether after  Jack  went  away,  remembered  that  he  had  not 
once  gone  near  his  ward  since  he  drove  her  to  Twicken- 
ham. 

"  It  is  too  bad,"  said  Conscience;  "  a  whole  month." 

"  It  is  all  that  woman's  fault,"  he  pleaded.  "  I  have 
been  dangling  about,  in  obedience  to  her,  like  a  fool." 

"  Like  a  fool  !"  echoed  Conscience. 

He  went  that  very  day,  and  was  easily  persuaded  to 
stay  and  dine  with  the  two  ladies. 

He  said  very  little,  but  Agatha  observed  him  watching 
his  ward  closely. 

After  dinner  she  got  a  chance. 

It  was  a  pleasant  evening,  early  in  June.  They  had 
strawberries  on  a  garden  table.  Phillis  presently  grew 
tired  of  sitting  under  the  shade,  and  strolled  down  to  the 
river-side,  where  she  sat  on  the  grass  and  threw  biscuits 
to  the  swans. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Lawrence  ?" 

He  was  watching  her  in  silence. 

"  I  don't  understand  it,  Agatha.  What  have  you  done 
to  her  ?" 

"  Nothing.     Are  you  pleased  ?" 

"You  are  a  witch;  I  believe  you  must  have  a  familiar 
somewhere.     She  is  wonderful — wonderful .'" 


422  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  Is  she  a  ward  to  be  proud  of  and  to  love,  Lawrence  ? 
Is  she  the  sweetest  and  prettiest  girl  you  ever  saw  ?  My 
dear  cousin,  I  declare  to  you  that  I  think  her  faultless.  At 
least,  her  very  faults  are  attractive.  She  is  impetuous  and 
self-wiiled,  but  she  is  full  of  sympathy.  And  that  seems 
to  have  grown  up  in  her  altogether  in  the  last  few 
months. 

"  Her  manner  appears  to  be  more  perfect  than  anything 
I  have  ever  seen." 

"  It  is  because  she  has  no  self-consciousness.  She  is 
like  a  child  still,  my  dear  Phillis,  so  far." 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is  because  she  cannot  read  ?  Why 
should  we  not  prohibit  the  whole  sex  from  learning  to 
read  ?" 

"  Nonsense,  Lawrence  What  would  the  novelists  do  ? 
Besides,  she  is  learning  to  read  fast.  I  put  her  this 
morning  into  the  Third  Lesson  Book — two  syllables.  And 
it  is  not  as  if  she  were  ignorant,  because  she  knows  a  great 
deal." 

"  Then  why  is  it  ?" 

"  I  think  her  sweet  nature  has  something  to  do  with  it; 
and,  besides,  she  has  been  shielded  from  many  bad  in- 
fluences. We  send  girls  to  school,  and — and — well, 
Lawrence,  we  cannot  all  be  angels,  any  more  than  men. 
If  girls  learn  about  love,  and  establishments,  and  flir- 
tations, and  the  rest  of  it,  why,  they  naturally  want  their 
share  of  these  good  things.  Then  they  get  self-con- 
scious." 

"What  about  Jack  Dunquerque  ?  '  asked  Lawrence 
abruptly.     "  He  has  been  to  me  about  her." 

Agatha  blushed  as  prettily  as  any  self-conscious  young 
girl. 

"  He  loves  Phillis,"  she  said  ;  "  but  Phillis  only  regards 
him  as  a  brother." 

"Agatha,  you  are  no  wiser  than  little  Red  Riding  Hood. 
Jack  Dunquerque  is  a  wolf." 

"  I  am  sure  he  is  a  most  honourable,  good  young  man." 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  423 

"  As  for  good,  goodness  knows.  Honourable  no  doubt, 
and  a  wolf.  You  are  a  matchmaker,  you  bad,  bad  woman. 
I  believe  you  want  him  to  marry  that  young  Princess  over 
there." 

"And  what  did  you  tell  poor  Jack  ?" 
"  Told  him  to  wait.     Acted  the  stern  guardian.     Won't 
have  an  engagement.      Must  let  Phillis   have  her  run. 
Mustn't  come   here  perpetually  trying  to   gobble  up  my 
dainty  heiress.     Think  upon  that  now,  Cousin  Agatha." 
"  She  could  not  marry  into  a  better  family." 
"  Very  true.     The  Dunquerques  had   an  Ark  of  their 
own,  I  believe,  at  the  Deluge.     But  then  Jack  is  not  Lord 
Isleworth  ;  and  he  isn't  ambitious,  and  he  isn't  clever,  and 
he  isn't  rich." 

"  Go  on,  Lawrence  ;  it  is  charming  to  see  you  in  a  new 
character — Lawrence  the  Prudent !  " 

"  Charmed  to  charm  la  belle  cousine.  He  is  in  love,  and 
he  is  hit  as  hard  as  any  man  I  ever  saw.  But  Phillis  shall 
not  be  snapped  up  in  this  hasty  and  inconsiderate  man- 
ner.    There  are  lots  of  better  parlls  in  the  field. 

Then  Phillis  came  back,  dangling  her  hat  by  its  ribbons. 
The  setting  sun  made  a  glory  of  her  hair,  lit  up  the  splen- 
dour of  her  eyes,  and  made  a  clear  outline  of  her  delicate 
features  and  tall  shapely  figure. 

"  Come  and  sit  by  me,  Phillis,"  said  her  guardian.  "  I 
have  neglected  you.  Agatha  will  tell  you  that  I  am  a  worth- 
less youth  of  forty,  who  neglects  all  his  duties.  You  are  so 
much  improved,  my  child,  that  I  hardly  knew  you.  Prettier 
and — and — everything.     How  goes  on  the  education  ?" 

"  Reading  and  writing,"  said  Phillis,  "do  not  make  edu- 
cation. Really,  Lawrence,  you  ought  to  know  better.  A 
year  or  two  with  Mr.  Dyson  would  have  done  you  much 
good.  I  am  in  words  of  two  syllables  ;  and  Agatha  thinks 
I  am  getting  on  very  nicely.  I  am  in  despair  about  my 
painting  since  we  have  been  to  picture-galleries.  And  to 
think  how  conceited  I  was  once  over  it !  But  I  can  draw, 
Lawrence;  I  shall  not  give  up  my  drawing." 


424  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  And  you  liked  your  galleries  ? " 

"  Some  of  them.  The  Academy  was  tiring.  Why  don't 
they  put  all  the  portraits  in  one  room  together,  so  that  we 
need  not  waste  time  over  them  ?" 

"  What  did  you  look  at  ?" 

"  I  looked  at  what  all  the  other  people  pressed  to  see, 
first  of  all.  There  was  a  picture  of  Waterloo,  with  the 
French  and  English  crowded  together  so  that  they  could 
shake  hands.  It  was  drawn  beautifully  ;  but  somehow  it 
made  me  feel  as  if  War  was  a  little  thing.  Mr.  Dyson 
used  to  say  that  women  take  the  grandeur  and  strength 
out  of  Art.  Then  there  was  a  brown  man  with  a  sling  on 
a  platform.  The  platform  rested  on  stalks  of  corn  ;  and 
if  the  man  were  to  throw  the  stone  he  would  topple  over, 
and  tumble  off  his  platform.  And  there  was  another  one, 
of  a  row  of  women  going  to  be  sold  for  slaves  ;  a  curious 
picture,  and   beautifully  painted,  but   I  did  not  like  it." 

"  What  did  you  like  ?" 

*'  I  liked  some  that  told  their  own  story,  and  made  me 
think.  There  was  a  picture  of  a  moor — ^take  me  to  see  a 
moor,  Lawrence — with  a  windy  sky,  and  a  wooden  fence, 
and  a  light  upon.  Oh,  I  liked  all  the  landscapes.  I  think 
our  artists  feel  trees  and  sunshine.  But  what  is  my  opin- 
ion worth  ?" 

"  Come  with  me  to-morrow,  Phillis;  we  will  go  through 
the  pictures  together,  and  you  shall  teach  me  what  to  like. 
Your  opinion  worth  ?  Why,  child,  all  the  opinions  of  all 
the  critics  together  are  not  worth  yours." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
"  What  Is  it  that  has  been  done  ?' 

THESE  anonymous  letters  and  this  fit  of  jealousy,  the 
more  dangerous  because  it  was  a  new  thing,  came  at 
an  awkward  time  for  Gabriel  Cassilis.  He  had  got  "big" 
things  in  hand,  and  the  eye§  of  the  City,  he  felt,  were  on 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  425 

him.  It  was  all-important  that  he  should  keep  his  clear- 
ness of  vision  and  unclouded  activity  of  brain.  For  the 
first  time  in  his  life  his  operations  equalled,  or  nearly  ap- 
proached, his  ambition.  For  the  first  time  he  had  what  he 
called  a  considerable  sum  in  his  hands.  That  is  to  say, 
there  was  his  own  money — he  was  reported  to  be  worth 
three  hundred  thousand  pounds — Gilead  Beck's  little  pile, 
with  his  unlimited  credit,  and  smaller  sums  placed  in  his 
hands  for  investment  by  private  friends,  such  as  Colqu- 
houn,  Ladds,  and  others.  A  total  which  enabled  him  to 
wait.  And  the  share-market  oscillating.  And  telegrams 
in  cipher  reaching  him  from  all  quarters.  And  Gabriel 
Cassilis  unable  to  work,  tormented  by  the  one  thought, 
like  lo  by  her  gad-fly,  attacked  by  fits  of  giddiness  which 
made  him  cling  to  the  arms  of  his  chair,  and  relying  on  a 
brain  which  was  active,  indeed,  because  it  was  filled  with 
a  never-ending  succession  of  pictures,  in  which  his  wife 
and  Colquhoun  always  formed  the  principal  figures,  but 
which  refused  steady  work. 

Gabriel  Cassilis  was  a  gamester  who  played  to  win.  His 
game  was  not  the  roulette-table,  where  the  bank  holds 
one  chance  out  of  thirty,  and  must  win  in  the  long  run;  it 
was  a  game  in  which  he  staked  his  foresight,  knowledge 
of  events,  financial  connections,  and  calm  judgment  against 
greed,  panic,  enthusiasm,  and  ignorance.  It  was  his  busi- 
ness to  be  prepared  against  any  turn  of  the  tide.  He 
would  have  stood  calmly  in  the  Rue  Quincampoix,  buying 
in  and  selling  out  up  to  an  hour  before  the  smash.  And 
th.jt  would  have  found  him  without  a  single  share  in  Law's 
great  scheme.  A  great  game,  but  a  difficult  one.  It  re- 
quires many  qualities,  and  when  you  have  got  these,  it  re- 
quires a  steady  watchfulness  and  attention  to  the  smallest 
cloud  appearing  on  the  horizon. 

There  were  many  clouds  on  the  horizon.  His  grand 
coup  was  to  be  in  Eldorado  Stock.  Thanks  to  Mr.  Wylie's 
pamphlet  they  went  down,  and  Gabriel  Cassilis  bought  in 


426  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

— bought  all  he  could ;  and  the  Stock  went  up.  There 
was  a  fortnight  before  settling  day. 

They  went  up  higher,  and  yet  higher.  El  Senor  Don 
Bellaco  de  la  Carambola,  Minister  of  the  Eldorado  Repub- 
lic at  St.  James's,  wrote  a  strong  letter  to  the  daily  papers 
in  reply  to  Mr.  Wylie's  pamphlet.  He  called  attention  to 
the  rapid — the  enormous — advance  made  in  the  State. 
As  no  one  had  seen  the  place,  it  was  quite  safe  to  speak  of 
buildings,  banks,  commercial  prosperity,  and  "  openings 
up."  It  appeared,  indeed,  from  his  letter  that  the  time  of 
universal  wealth,  long  looked  for  by  mankind,  was  actu- 
ally arrived  for  Eldorado. 

The  Stock  went  higher.  Half  the  country  elergy  who 
had  a  few  hundreds  in  the  bank  wanted  to  put  them  in 
Eldorado  Stock.  Still  Gabriel  Cassilis  made  no  move, 
but  held  on. 

And  every  day  to  get  another  of  those  accursed  letters, 
with  some  new  fact;  every  day  to  groan  under  fresh  tor- 
ture of  suspicion;  every  day  to  go  home  and  dine  with  the 
calm  cold  creature  whose  beauty  had  been  his  pride,  and 
try  to  think  that  this  impassive  woman  could  be  faithless  : 

This  torture  lasted  for  weeks;  it  began  when  Colquhoun 
first  went  to  his  house,  and  continued  through  May  into 
June.  His  mental  sufferings  were  so  great  that  his  speech 
became  affected.  He  found  himself  saying  wrong  words, 
or  not  being  able  to  hit  upon  the  right  word  at  all.  So  he 
grew  silent.  When  he  returned  home,  which  was  now 
early,  he  hovered  about  the  house.  Or  he  crept  up  to  his 
nursery,  and  played  with  his  year-old  child.  And  tlie 
nurses  noticed  how,  while  he  laughed  and  crowed  to  please 
the  baby,  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

The  letters  grew  more  savage. 

He  would  take  them  out  and  look  at  them.  Some  of 
the  sentences  burned  into  his  brain  like  fire. 

"As  Mr  Lawrence  Colquhoun  is  the  only  man  she  ever 
loved.  Ask  her  for  the  secret.  They  think  no  one 
knows  it. 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  427 

"  Does  she  care  for  the  child — your  child  ?  Ask  Tomlin- 
son  how  often  she  sees  It. 

"  When  you  go  to  your  office,  Mr,  Colquhoun  comes  to 
your  house.  When  you  con?e  home,  he  goes  out  of  it. 
Then  they  meet  somewhere  else. 

"Ask  him  for  the  secret.  Then  ask  her,  and  compare 
what  they  say. 

"  Five  years  ago  Mr.  Lawrence  Colquhoun  and  Miss 
Pengelley  were  going  to  be  married.  Everybody  said  so. 
She  went  to  Scotland.  He  went  after  her.  Ask  him 
why. 

"  You  are  an  old  fool  with  a  young  wife.  She  loves 
your  money,  not  you  ;  she  despises  you  because  you  are 
a  City  man  ;  and  she  loves  Mr.  Colquhoun." 

He  sat  alone  in  his  study  after  dinner,  reading  these 
wretched  things,  in  misery  of  soul.  And  a  thought  came 
across  him. 

"  I  will  go  and  see  Colquhoun,"  he  said.  "  I  will  talk 
to  him,  and  ask  him  what  is  this  secret." 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock.  He  put  on  his  hat  and  took 
a  cab  to  Colquhoun's  chambers. 

On  that  day  Lawrence  Colquhoun  was  ill  at  ease.  It 
was  borne  in  upon  him  with  especial  force — probably  be- 
cause it  was  one  of  the  sultry  and  thunderous  days  when 
Conscience  has  it  all  her  own  disagreeable  way-^that  he 
was  and  had  been  an  enormous  Ass.  By  some  accident 
he  was  acquainted  with  the  fact  that  he  had  given  rise  to 
talk  by  his  frequent  visits  to  Victoria  Cassilis. 

'*  And  to  think,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  that  I  only  went 
there  at  her  own  special  request,  and  because  she  likes 
quarrelling  !" 

He  began  to  think  of  possible  dangers,  not  to  himself, 
but  to  her  and  to  her  husband,  even  old  stories  revived 
and  things  forgotten  and  brought  to  light.  And  the 
thing  which  she  had  done  came  before  him  in  its  real 
shape  and  ghastliness — a  bad  and  ugly  thing;  a  thing  for 
whose  sake  he  should   have   fled  from  her  presence  and 


428  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

avoided  her  ;  a  thing  which  he  was  guilty  in  hiding.  No 
possible  danger  to  himself?  Well,  in  some  sense  none; 
in  every  other  sense  all  dangers.  He  had  known  of  this 
thing,  and  yet  he  sat  at  her  table;  he  was  conscious  of  the 
crime,  and  yet  he  was  seen  with  her  in  public  places;  he 
was  2\vciO%t particeps  criminis,  because  he  did  not  tell  what 
he  knew;  and  yet  he  went  day  after  day  to  her  house — 
for  the  pleasure  of  quarrelling  with  her. 

He  sat  down  and  wrote  to  her.  He  told  her  that  per- 
haps she  did  not  wholly  understand  him  when  he  told  her 
that  the  renewed  acquaintance  between  them  must  cease; 
that,  considering  the  past  and  with  an  eye  to  the  future, 
he  was  going  to  put  it  out  of  her  powar  to  compromise 
herself  by  seeing  her  no  more.  He  reminded  her  that 
she  had  a  great  secret  to  keep  unknown,  and  a  great  po- 
sition to  lose;  and  then  he  begged  her  to  give  up  her 
wild  attempts  at  renewing  the  old  ties  of  friendship. 

The  letter,  considering  what  the  secret  really  was, 
seemed  a  wretched  mockery  to  the  writer,  but  he  signed 
it  and  sent  it  by  his  servant. 

Then  he  strolled  to  his  club,  and  read  the  papers  before 
dinner.  But  he  was  not  easy.  There  was  upon  him  the 
weight  of  impending  misfortune.  He  dined,  and  tried  to 
drown  care  in  claret,  but  with  poor  success,  Then  he 
issued  forth — it  was  nine  o'clock  and  still  light — and 
walked  gently  homewards. 

He  walked  so  slowly  that  it  was  half-past  nine  when  he 
let  himself  into  his  chambers  in  the  Albany.  His  servant 
was  out,  and  the  rooms  looked  dismal  and  lonely.  They 
were  not  dismal,  being  on  the  second  floor,  where  it  is 
light  and  airy,  and  being  furnished  as  mediaeval  bachelor- 
hood with  plenty  of  money  alone  understands  furniture. 
But  he  was  nervous  to-night,  and  grim  stories  came  into 
his  mind  of  spectres  and  strange  visitors  to  lonely  men  in 
chambers.  Such  things  happen  mostly,  he  remembered, 
on  twilight  evenings  in  midsummer.  He  was  quite  right. 
The  only  ghost  I  ever  saw  myself  was  in  one  of  the  Inns 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  429 

of  Court,  in  chambers,  at  nine  o'clock  on  a  June  eve- 
ning. 

He  made  haste  to  Hght  a  lamp — no  such  abomination 
as  gas  was  permitted  in  Lawrence  Colquhoun's  chambers: 
it  was  one  of  the  silver  reading-lamps,  good  for  small 
tables,  and  provided  with  a  green  shade,  so  that  the  light 
might  fall  in  a  bright  circle,  which  was  Cimmertian  black- 
ness shading  off  into  the  sepia  of  twilight.  It  was  his 
habit,  too,  to  have  lighted  candles  on  the  mantelshelf  and 
on  a  table;  but  to  night  he  forgot  them,  so  that,  except 
for  the  light  cast  upwards  by  the  gas  in  the  court  and  an 
opposite  window  illuminated,  and  for  the  half-darkness  of 
the  June  evening,  the  room  was  dark.  It  was  very  quiet, 
too.  There  was  no  footsteps  in  the  court  below,  and  no 
voices  or  steps  in  the  room  near  him.  His  nearest  neigh- 
bour, young  Lord  Orlebar,  would  certainly  not  be  home, 
much  before  one  or  two,  when  he  might  return  with  a  few 
friends  connected  with  the  twin  services  of  the  army  and 
the  ballet  for  a  little  cheerful  supper.  Below  him  was  old 
Sir  Richard  de  Counterpane,  who  was  by  this  time  certain- 
ly in  bed,  and  perhaps  sound  asleep.  Very  quiet — he 
had  never  known  it  more  quiet;  and  he  began  to  feel  as 
if  it  would  be  a  relief  to  his  nerves  were  something  or 
somebody  to  make  a  little  noise. 

He  took  a  novel,  one  that  he  had  begun  a  week  ago. 
Whether  the  novel  of  the  day  is  inferior  to  the  novel  of 
Colquhoun's  youth,  or  whether  he  was  a  bad  reader  of  fic- 
tion, certainly  he  had  been  more  than  a  week  over  the  first 
volume  alone. 

Now  it  interested  him  less  than  ever. 

He  threw  it  away  and  lit  a  cigar.  And  then  his  thoughts 
went  back  to  Victoria.  What  was  the  devil  which  pos- 
sessed the  woman  that  she  could  not  rest  quiet  ?  What 
was  the  meaning  of  this  madness  upon  her  ? 

"  A  cold — an  Arctic  woman,"  Lawrence  murmured. 
"  Cold  when  I  told  her  how  much  I  loved  her;  cold  when 
she  engaged  herself  to  me;  cold  in   her  crime;  and  yet 


430  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

she  follows  me  about  as  if  she  was  devoured  by  the  ardour 
of  love,  like  another  Sappho." 

It  was  not  that,  Lawrence  Colquhoun;  it  was  the  spretcz 
injuria  formes,  the  jealousy  and  hatred  caused  by  the  lost 
power. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said,  starting  to  his  feet,  and  walking  like 
the  Polar  bear  across  his  den  and  back  again,  "  I  wish  to 
heaven  I  had  gone  on  living  in  the  Empire  City  v/ith  my 
pair  of  villainous  Chinamen.  At  least  I  was  free  from  her 
over  there.  And  when  I  saw  her  marriage,  by  Gad  !  I 
thought  it  was  a  finisher.     Then  I  came  home  again." 

He  stopped  in  his  retrospection,  because  he  heard  a  foot 
upon  the  stairs. 

A  woman's  foot;  a  light  step  and  a  quick  step. 

"  May  be  De  Counterpane's  nurse.  Too  early  fo  rone 
of  young  Orlebar's  friends.     Can't  be  anybody  for  me." 

But  it  was;  and  a  woman  stopped  at  his  doorway,  and 
seeing  him  alone,  stepped  in. 

She  had  a  hooded  cloak  thrown  about  an  evening- 
dress;  the  hood  was  drawn  completely  over  her  face,  so 
that  you  could  see  nothing  of  it  in  the  dim  light.  And  she 
came  in  without  a  word. 

Then  Colquhoun,  who  was  no  coward,  felt  his  blood 
run  cold,  because  he  knew  by  her  figure  and  by  her  step 
that  it  was  Victoria  Cassilis, 

She  threw  back  the  hood  with  a  gesture  almost  theatri- 
cal, and  stood  before  him  with  parted  lips  and  flashing 
eyes. 

His  spirits  rallied  a  little  then,  because  he  saw  that  her 
face  was  white,  and  that  she  was  in  a  royal  rage.  Law- 
rence Colquhoun  could  tackle  a  woman  m  a  rage.  That 
is  indeed  elementary,  and  nothing  at  all  to  be  proud  of. 
The  really  difficult  thing  is  to  tackle  a  woman  in  tears  and 
distress.  The  stoutest  heart  quails  before  such  an  enter- 
prise. 

"  What  is  this  ?"  she  began,  with  a  rush  as  of  the  liberated 
whirlwind.     "What  does    this  letter  mean,  Lawrence.^" 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  43I 

"  Exactly  what  it  says,  Mrs.  Cassilis.  May  I  ask,  is  it 
customary  for  married  ladies  to  visit  single  gentlemen  in 
their  chambers,  and  at  night  ?" 

"  It  is  not  usual  for — married — ladies — to  visit — single 
— gentlemen,  Lawrence.  Do  not  ask  foolish  questions. 
Tell  me  what  this  means,  I  say." 

"  It  means  that  my  visits  to  your  house  have  been  too 
frequent,  and  that  they  will  be  discontinued.  In  other 
words,  Mrs.  Cassilis,  the  thing  has  gone  too  far,  and  I 
shall  cease  to  be  seen  with  you.  I  suppose  you  know  that 
people  will  talk." 

"  Let  them  talk.  What  do  I  care  how  people  talk  ? 
Lawrence,  if  you  think  that  I  am  going  to  let  you  go  like 
this,  you  are  mistaken." 

"  I  believe  this  poor  lady  has  gone  mad,"  said  Law- 
rence quietly.  It  was  not  the  best  way  to  quiet  and 
soothe  her,  but  he  could  not  help  himself. 

"  You  think  you  are  going  to  play  fast  and  loose  with 
me  twice  in  my  life,  and  you  are  mistaken.  You  shall  not. 
Years  ago  you  showed  me  what  you  are — cold,  treacher- 
ous, and  crafty  " 

"Go  on,  Victoria;  I  like  that  kind  of  thing,  because 
now  I  know  that  you  are  not  mad.  Quite  in  your  best 
style." 

"  And  I  forgave  you  when  you  returned,  and  allowed 
you  once  more  to  visit  me.  What  other  woman  would 
have  acted  so  to  such  a  man  ?" 

"  Yet  she  must  be  mad,"  said  Lawrence.  "  How  else 
could  she  talk  such  frightful  rubbish  ?" 

"  Once  more  we  have  been  friends.  Again  you  have 
drawn  me  on,  until  I  have  learned  to  look  to  you,  for  the 
second  time,  for  the  appreciation  denied  to  me  by  my — 
Mr.  Cassilis.  No,  sir;  this  second  desertion  must  not  and 
shall  not  be." 

"One  would  think,"  said  Lawrence  helplessly,  "that  we 
had  not  quarrelled  every  time  we  met.  Now,  Mrs.  Cas- 
silis, you  have   my  resolution.     What  you  please,  in  your 


432  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

sweet  romantic  way,  to  call  second  desertion  must  be  and 
shall  be." 

"  Then  I  will  know  the  reason  why  ?" 

"  I  have  told  you  the  reason  why.  Don't  be  a  fool, 
Mrs.  Cassilis.  Ask  yourself  what  you  want.  Do  you  want 
me  to  run  away  with  you  ?  I  am  a  lazy  man,  I  know, 
and  I  generally  do  what  people  ask  me  to  do;  but  as  for 
that  thing,  I  am  damned  if  I  do  it  !" 

"  Insult  me,  Lawrence  !"  she  cried,  sinking  into  a  chair. 
"  Swear  at  me,  as  you  will." 

"Do you  wish  me  to  philander  about  your  house  like  a 
ridiculous  tame  cat,  till  all  the  world  cries  out  ?" 

She  started  to  her  feet. 

"  No  !"  she  cried.  "  I  care  nothing  about  )-our  coming 
and  going.  But  I  know  why  — Oh,  I  know  why  ! — you 
make  up  this  lame  excuse  about  my  good  name — my  good 
name  !     As  if  you  cared  about  that !" 

"  More  than  you  cared  about  it  yourself,"  he  retorted, 
"  But  pray  goon." 

"  It  is  Phillis  Fleming;  I  saw  it  from  the  very  first.  You 
began  by  taking  her  away  from  me  and  placing  her  with 
your  cousin,  where  you  could  have  her  completely  under 
your  own  influence.  You  let  Jack  Dunquerque  hang 
about  her  at  first,  just  to  show  the  ignorant  creature  what 
was  meant  by  flirtation,  and  then  you  send  him  about  his 
business.  Lawrence,  you  are  more  wicked  than  I  thought 
you." 

"  Jealousy,  by  Gad  !"  he  cried.  "  Did  ever  mortal  man 
hear  of  such  a  thing  ?  Jealousy  !  And  after  all  that  she 
has  done  " 

"  I  warn  you.  You  may  do  a  good  many  things.  You 
may  deceive  and  insult  me  in  any  way  except  one.  But 
you  shall  never,  never  marry  Phillis  Fleming  !" 

Colquhoun  was  about  to  reply  that  he  never  thought  of 
marrying  Phillis  Fleming,  but  it  occurred  to  him  that 
there  was  no  reason  for  making  that  assertion.  So  he  re- 
plied nothing. 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  433 

"  I  escaped,"  she  said,  "  under  pretence  ot  being  ill. 
And  I  made  them  fetch  me  a  cab  to  come  away  in.  My 
cab  is  at  the  Burlington  Gardens  end  of  the  court  now. 
Before  I  go  you  shall  make  me  a  promise,  Lawrence — you 
used  to  keep  your  promises — to  act  as  if  this  miserable 
letter  had  not  been  written." 

"I  shall  promise  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  Then  remember,  Lawrence — you  shall  never  marry 
Phillis  Fleming  !  Not  if  I  have  to  stop  it  by  proclaiming 
my  own  disgrace — you  shall  not  marry  that  girl,  or  any 
other  girl.  I  have  that  power  over  you,  at  any  rate.  Now 
I  shall  go." 

"There  is  some  one  en  the  stairs,"  said  Lawrence 
quietly. 

"  Perhaps  he  is  coming  here.  You  had  better  not  be 
seen.     Best  go  into  the  other  room  and  wait." 

There  was  only  one  objection  to  her  waiting  in  the 
other  room,  and  that  was  that  the  door  was  on  the  oppo- 
site side;  that  the  outer  oak  was  wide  open;  that  the  step 
upon  the  stairs  was  already  the  step  upon  the  landing;  and 
that  the  owner  of  the  step  was  already  entering  the  room. 

Mrs.  Cassilis  instinctively  shrank  back  into  the  darkest 
corner — that  near  the  window.  The  curtains  were  of 
some  light-coloured  stuff.  She  drew  them  closely  round 
her  and  cowered  down,  covering  her  head  with  the 
hood,  like  Guinevere  before  her  injured  lord.  For  the 
late  caller  was  no  other  than  her  own  husband,  Gabriel 
Cassilis. 

As  he  stood  in  the  doorway  the  light  of  the  reading- 
lamp — Mrs.  Cassilis  in  one  of  her  gestures  had  tilted  up 
the  shade — fell  upon  his  pale  face  and  stooping  form. 
Colquhoun  noticed  that  he  stooped  more  than  usual,  and 
that  his  grave  face  bore  an  anxious  look — such  a  look  as 
one  sees  sometimes  in  the  faces  of  men  who  have  long 
suffered  grievous  bodily  pain.  He  hesitated  for  a  moment, 
tapping  his  knuckles  with  his  double  eyeglasses,  his  habit- 
ual gesture. 


434  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  I  came  up  this  evening,  Colquhoun.  Are  you  quite 
alone  ?" 

"  As  you  see,  Mr.  Cassilis,"  said  Colquhoun.  He  looked 
hastily  round  the  room.  In  the  corner  he  saw  the  dim 
outline  of  the  crouching  form.  He  adjusted  the  shade, 
and  turned  the  lamp  a  little  lower.  The  gas  in  the  cham- 
bers on  the  other  side  of  the  narrow  court  was  put  oul, 
and  the  room  was  almost  dark.  "As  you  see,  Mr.  Cassilis. 
And  what  gives  me  the  pleasure  of  this  late  call  from 
you  ?" 

"  I   thought   I    would   come — I    came   to   say " he 

stopped  helplessly,  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair. 
It  was  a  chair  standing  near  the  corner  in  which 
his  wife  was  crouching;  and  he  pushed  it  back  un- 
til he  might  have  heard  her  breathing  close  to  his 
ear,  and,  if  he  had  put  forth  his  hand,  might  have  touched 
her. 

"Glad  to  see  you  always,  Mr.  Cassilis.  You  came 
to  speak  about  some  money  matters  ?  I  have  an  engage- 
ment in  five  minutes  ;  but  we  shall  have  time,  I  dare 
say." 

"An  engagement  ?  Ah  !  a  lady,  perhaps."  This 
with  a  forced  laugh,  because  he  was  thinking  of  his 
wife. 

"  A  lady  ?    Yes — yes,  a  lady. 

"  Young   men — young   men  " said    Gabriel  Cassilis. 

"  Well,  I  will  not  keep  you.  I  came  here  to  speak  to  you 
about — about  my  wife." 

"  O  Lord  !  "  cried  Lawrence.  "  I  beg  your  pardon — 
about  Mrs.  Cassilis  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  a  very  stupid  business.  You  have  known 
her  for  a  long  time." 

"  I  have,  Mr.  Cassilis;  for  nearly  eight  years.' 

"Ah,  old  friends;  and  once,  I  believe,  people  thought '' — 

"  Once,  Mr.  Cassilis,  I  myself  thought — I  cannot  tell 
you  what  I  thought  Victoria  Pengelley  might  be  to  me. 
But  that  is  over  long  since.' 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  435 

*'One  for  her,"  thought  Lawrence,  whose  nerves  were 
steady  in  danger.  His  two  listeners  trembled  and  shook, 
but  from  different  causes. 

"  Over  long  since,"  repeated  Gabriel  Cassilis.  "  There 
was  nothing  in  it,  then  ?" 

"  We  were  two  persons  entirely  dissimilar  in  disposition, 
Mr.  Cassilis,"  Lawrence  replied  evasively.  "Perhaps  I 
was  not  worthy  of  her — her  calm,  clear  judgment." 

"  Another  for  her,'  he  thought,  with  a  chuckle.  The 
situation  would  have  pleased  him  but  that  he  felt  sorry  for 
the  poor  man. 

"  Victoria  is  outwardly  cold,  yet  capable  of  the  deepest 
emotions.  It  is  on  her  account,  Colquhoun,  that  I  come 
here.  Foolish  gossip  has  been  at  work,  connecting  your 
names.     I  think  it  the  best  thing,  without  saying  anything 

to  Victoria,  who  must  never  suspect  " 

"  Never  suspect."  echoed  Colquhoun. 
"  That  I  ever  heard  this  absurdity.     But  we  must  guard 
her  from  calumny,  Colquhoun.     Caesar's  wife,  you  know; 
and — and — I  think  that,  perhaps,  if  you  were  to  be  a  little 

less  frequent  in  your  calls — and  " 

"I  quite  understand,  Mr.  Cassilis;  and  I  am  not  in  the 
least  offended.  I  assure  you  most  sincerely — I  wish 
Mrs.  Cassilis  were  here  to  listen — that  I  am  deeply  sorry 
for  having  innocently  put  you  to  the  pain  of  saying  this. 
However,  the  world  shall  have  no  further  cause  of  gos. 
sip." 

No  motion  or  sign  from  the  dark  corner  where  the  hid- 
ing woman  crouched. 

Mr.  Cassilis   rose   and   tapped   his  knuckles   with   his 
glasses.     "  Thank  you,  Colquhoun.     It  is  good  of  you  to 
take  this  most  unusual   request   so  kindly,     With  such  a 
wife  as  mine  jealousy  would  be  absurd.     But  I  have  to 
keep  her  name  from  even  a  breath — even  a  breath." 
"  Quite  right,  Mr.  Cassilis." 
He  looked  round  the  room. 
"Snug  quarters  for  a  bachelor — ah  !  I  lived  in  lodgings 


436  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

always  myself.  I  thought  I  heard  a  woman's  roice  as  I 
came  up-stairs." 

"  From  Sir  Richard  de  Counterpane's  rooms  down 
stairs,  perhaps.  His  nurses,  I  suppose.  The  poor  old 
man  is  getting  infirm." 

"  Ay — ay;  and  your  bedroom  is  there,  I  suppose  ?" 

Lawrence  took  the  lamp  and  opened  the  door.  It  was 
a  bare,  badly  furnished  room,  with  a  little  camp-bedstead, 
and  nothing  else  hardly.  For  Lawrence  kept  his  luxuri- 
ous habits  for  the  day. 

Was  it  pure  curiosity  that  made  Gabriel  Cassilis  look  all 
round  the  room  ? 

"  Ah,  hermit-like.  Now,  I  like  a  large  bed.  However, 
I  am  very  glad  I  came.  One  word,  Colquhoun,  is  better 
than  a  thousand  letters;  and  you  are  sure  you  do  not 
misunderstand  me  ?" 

"  Quite,"  said  Lawrence,  taking  his  hat.  I  am  going 
out,  too." 

"  No  jealousy  at  all,"  said  Gabriel  Cassilis,  going  down 
the  stairs. 

•'  Certainly  not.'' 

"  Nothing  but  a  desire  to — to  " 

"  I  understand  perfectly,"  said  Lawrence. 

As  they  descended,  Lawrence  heard  steps  on  the  stairs 
behind  them.     They  were  not  yet,  then,  out  of  danger. 

"  Very  odd,''  said  Mr.  Cassilis.  "  Coming  up  I  heard  a 
woman's  voice.  Now  it  seems  as  if  there  were  a  woman's 
feet." 

"  Nerves,  perhaps,"  said  Colquhoun.  The  steps  above 
them  stopped.     "  I  hear  nothing." 

"  Nor  do  I.     Nerves — ah,  yes — nerves." 

Mr.  Cassilis  turned  to  the  left,  Colquhoun  with  him. 
Behind  them  he  saw  the  cloaked  and  hooded  figure  of 
Victoria  Cassilis.  At  the  Burlington  Gardens  end  a  cab 
was  waiting.  Near  the  horse's  head  stood  a  woman's 
figure  which  Lawrence  thought  he  knew.  As  they  passed 
her  this  woman,  whoever  she  was,  covered  her  face  with  a 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  437 

handkerchief.  And  at  the  same  moment  the  cab  drove 
by  rapidly.  Gabriel  Cassilis  saw  neither  woman  nor  cab. 
He  was  too  happy  to  notice  anything.  There  was  noth- 
ihg  in  it;  nothing  at  all  except  mischievous  gossip.  And 
he  had  laid  the  Ghost. 

"  Dear  me  !"  he  said  to  himself  presently,  "  I  forgot  to 
ask  about  the  Secret.  But  of  course  there  is  none.  How 
should  there  be  ?" 

Next  morning  there  came  another  letter. 

"  You  have  been  fooled  worse  than  ever,"  it  said. 
"  Your  wife  was  in  Mr.  Colquhoun's  chambers  the  whole 
time  that  you  were  there.  She  came  down  the  stairs 
after  you;  she  passed  through  the  gate,  almost  touching 
you,  and  she  drove  past  you  in  a  hansom  cab.  I knmvthe 
number,  and  will  give  it  to  you  when  the  time  comes. 
Mr.  Colquhoun  lied  to  you.     How  long?     How  long?" 

It  should  have  been  a  busy  day  in  the  City.  To  begin 
with,  it  only  wanted  four  days  to  settling-day.  Telegrams 
and  letters  poured  in,  and  they  lay  unopened  on  the  desk 
at  which  Gabriel  Cassilis  sat,  with  this  letter  before  him, 
mad  with  jealousy  and  rage. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII, 

"  '  Come  now,'  the  Master  Bailder  cried, 

'  The  twenty  years  of  work  are  done  ; 
Flaunt  forth  the  Flag,  and  crown  with  pride 

The  Glory  of  the  Coping-Stone. ' ' ' 

JACK  DUNQUERQUE  was  to  "  slack  off "  his  visits  to 
Twickenham.  That  is  to  say,  as  he  interpreted  the  in- 
junction, he  was  not  wholly  to  discontinue  them,  in  order 
not  to  excite  suspicion.  But  he  was  not  to  haunt  the 
Louse  ;  he  was  to  make  less  frequent  voyages  up  the  silver 
Thames  ;  he  was  not  to  ride  in  leafy  lanes  side  by  side 


438  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

with  Phillis — without  having  PhilHs  by  his  side  he  cared 
little  about  leafy  lanes,  and  would  rather  be  at  the  club  ; 
further,  by  these  absences  he  was  to  leave  off  being  neces- 
sary to  the  brightness  of  her  life. 

It  was  a  hard  saying.  Nevertheless,  the  young  man  felt 
that  he  had  little  reason  for  complaint.  Other  fellows  he 
knew,  going  after  oth:r  heiresses,  had  been  quite  peremp- 
torily sent  about  their  business  for  good,  particularly  needy 
young  men  like  himself.  All  that  Colquhoun  extorted  of 
him  was  that  he  should  "  slack  off."  He  felt,  in  a  manner, 
grateful,  although  had  he  been  a  youth  of  quicker  percep- 
tion, he  would  have  remembered  that  the  lover  who 
"  slacks  off  "  can  be  no  other  than  the  lover  who  wishes  he 
had  not  begun.  But  nobody  ever  called  Jack  a  clever 
young  man. 

He  was  not  to  give  her  up  altogether.  He  was  not  even 
to  give  up  hoping.  He  was  to  have  his  chance  with  the 
rest.  But  he  was  warned  that  no  chance  was  to  be  open 
to  him  until  the  young  lady  should  enter  upon  her  first 
season. 

Not  to  give  up  seeing  her.  That  was  everything.  Jack 
Dunquerque  had  hitherto  lived  the  life  of  all  young  men, 
careless  and  insouciant,  with  its  little  round  of  daily  pleas- 
ures. He  was  only  different  from  other  young  men  that 
he  had  learned,  partly  from  a  sympathetic  nature  and  partly 
by  travel,  not  to  put  all  his  pleasure  in  that  life  about  town 
and  in  country  houses  which  seems  to  so  many  the  one 
thing  which  the  world  has  to  offer.  He  who  has  lived  out 
on  the  Prairies  for  weeks  has  found  that  there  are  other 
pleasures  besides  the  gas-light  joys  of  Town.  But  his  life 
had  been  without  thought  and  purposeless — a  very  chaos  of 
a  life.  And  now  he  felt  vaguely  that  his  whole  being  was 
changed.  To  be  with  Phillis  day  after  day,  to  listen  to 
the  outpourings  of  her  freshness  and  innocence,  brought 
to  him  the  same  sort  of  refreshment  as  sitting  under  the 
little  cataract  of  a  mountain  stream  brings  to  one  who 
rambles  in  a  hot  West  Indian  island.     Things  for  which  he 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTEKFLY.  439 

once  cared  greatly  he  now  cared  for  no  more  ;  the  club- 
life,  the  cards,  and  the  billiards  ceased  to  interest  him  ;  he 
took  no  delight  in  them.  Perhaps  it  was  a  proof  of  a  cer- 
tain weakness  of  nature  in  Jack  Dunquerque  that  he  could 
not  at  the  same  time  love  things  in  which  Phillis  took  no 
part  and  the  things  which  made  the  simple  pleasures  of 
her  every-day  life. 

He  might  have  been  weak,  and  yet,  whether  he  was  weak 
or  strong,  he  knew  that  she  leaned  upon  him.  He  was  so 
sympathetic  ;  he  seemed  to  know  so  much  ;  he  decided  so 
quickly  ;  he  was  in  his  way  so  masterful,  that  the  girl 
looked  up  to  him  as  a  paragon  of  wisdom  and  strength. 

I  think  she  will  always  so  regard  him,  because  the  knowl- 
edge of  her  respect  raises  Jack  daily  in  moral  and  spiritual 
strength,  and  so  her  hero  approaches  daily  to  her  ideal. 
What  is  the  highest  love  worth  if  it  have  not  the  povt^er  of 
lifting  man  and  woman  together  up  to  the  higher  levels, 
where  the  air  is  purer,  the  sunshine  brighter,  the  vision 
clearer  ? 

But  Colquhoun's  commands  had  wrought  a  further 
change  in  him  ;  that  ugly  good-looking  face  of  his,  which 
Agatha  L'Estrange  admired  so  much,  and  which  was  wont 
to  be  wreathed  with  a  multitudinous  smile,  was  now  dole- 
ful. To  the  world  of  mankind — male  mankind — the  chief 
charm  of  Jack  Dunquerque,  the  main  cause  of  his  popu- 
larity— his  unvarying  cheerfulness — was  vanished. 

•'  You  ought  to  be  called  Doleful  Jack, '  said  Ladds. 
"Jack  of  Rueful  Countenance." 

"  You  don't  know,  Tommy,"  replied  the  lover,  sorrow- 
fully waggmg  his  head.  "  I've  seen  Colquhoun  ;  and  he 
won't  have  it.     Says  I  must  wait." 

"  He's  waited  till  forty.  I've  waited  to  five  and  thirty, 
and  we're  both  pretty  jolly.  Come,  yonng  un,  you  may 
take  courage  by  our  examples." 

"You  never  met  Phil  when  you  were  five  and  twenty," 
said  Jack.     "  Nobody  ever  saw  a  girl  like  Phillis." 

Five  and  thirty   seems   so   great  an  age  to  five  and 


44°  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

twenty.  And  at  five  and  thirty  one  feels  so  young,  that  it 
comes  upon  the  possessor  of  so  many  years  like  a  shock 
of  cold  water  to  be  reminded  that  he  is  really  no  longer 
young. 

One  good  thing — Lawrence  Colquhoun  did  not  reproach 
him.  Partly  perhaps  because,  as  a  guardian,  he  did  not 
thoroughly  realize  Jack's  flagitious  conduct ;  partly  be- 
cause he  was  an  easy-going  man,  with  a  notion  in  his  head 
that  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  work  of  Duennas  and 
Keepers  of  the  Gynaeceum.  He  treated  the  confessions 
of  the  remorseful  lover  with  a  cheery  contempt — passed 
them  by  ;  no  great  harm  had  been  done  ;  and  the  girl  was 
but  a  child. 

His  own  conscience  it  was  which  bullied  Jack  so  tre- 
mendously. One  day  he  rounded  on  his  accuser  like  the 
poor  worm  in  the  proverb,  who  might  perhaps  have  got 
safe  back  to  its  hole  but  for  that  ill-advised  turning.  He 
met  the  charges  like  a  man.  He  pleaded  that,  criminal 
as  he  had  been,  nefarious  and  inexcusable  as  his  action 
was,  this  action  had  given  him  a  very  high  time  ;  and 
that,  if  it  was  all  to  do  over  again,  he  should  probably  alter 
his  conduct  only  in  degree,  but  not  in  kind  ;  that  is  to 
say,  he  would  see  Phillis  oftener  and  stay  with  her  longer. 
Conscience  knocked  him  out  of  time  in  a  couple  of  rounds  ; 
but  still  he  did  have  the  satisfaction  of  showing  fight. 

Of  course  he  would  do  the  same  thing  again.  There 
has  never  been  found  by  duenna,  by  guardian,  by  despotic 
parent,  or  by  interested  relation,  any  law  of  restraint  strong 
enough  to  keep  apart  two  young  people  of  the  opposite 
sex  and  like  age,  after  they  have  once  become  attracted 
towards  each  other.  Prudence  and  prudery,  jealousy  and 
interest,  never  have  much  chance.  The  ancient  dames  of 
duennadom  may  purse  their  withered  lips  and  wrinkle 
their  crow's-footed  eyes  ;  Love,  the  unconquered,  laughs 
and  conquers  again. 

It  is  of  no  use  to  repeat  long  explanations  about  Phillis. 
Such  as  she  was,  we  know  her — a  law  unto  herself  ;  care- 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  44I 

less  of  prohibitions  and  unsuspicious  of  danger.  Like 
Una,  she  wandered  unprotected  and  fearless  among  what- 
ever two-legged  wolves,  bears,  eagles,  lions,  vultures  and 
other  beasts  and  birds  of  prey  might  be  anxiously  waiting 
to  snap  her  up.  Jack  was  the  great-hearted  lion  who  was 
to  bear  her  safely  through  the  wistful  growls  of  the  meaner 
beasts.  The  lion  is  not  clever  like  the  fox  or  the  beaver, 
but  one  always  conceives  of  him  as  a  gentleman,  and 
therefore  fit  to  be  entrusted  with  such  a  beautiful  maiden 
as  Una  or  Phillis.  And  if  Jack  was  quietly  allowed  to 
carry  off  his  treasure  it  was  Agatha  L'Estrange  who  was 
chiefly  to  blame  ;  and  she,  falling  in  love  with  Jack  her- 
self, quite  in  a  motherly  way,  allowed  the  wooing  to  go  on 
under  her  very  nose.'  "  A  bad,  bad  woman,"  as  Lawrence 
Colquhoun  called  her. 

But  such  a  wooing  !  Miss  Ethel  Citybredde,  when  she 
sees  Amandus  making  a  steady  but  not  an  eagerly  impe- 
tuous advance  in  her  direction  at  a  ball,  feels  her  languid 
pulses  beat  a  little  faster.  "  He  is  coming  after  Me,"  she 
says  to  herself,  with  pride.  They  snatch  a  few  moments 
to  sit  together  in  a  conservatory.  He  offers  no  remark 
worthy  of  repetition,  nor  does  she  ;  yet  she  thinks  to  hei- 
self,  "  He  is  going  to  ask  me  to  marry  him  ;  he  will  kiss 
me  ;  there  will  be  a  grand  wedding  ;  everybody  will  be 
pleased  ;  other  girls  will  be  envious  ;  and  I  shall  be  de- 
lighted. Papa  knows  that  he  is  well  off  and  well  con- 
nected.    How  charming  ! " 

Now  Phillis  allowed  her  lover  to  woo  her  without  one 
thought  of  love  or  marriage,  of  which,  indeed,  she  knew 
nothing.  But  if  the  passion  was  all  on  one  side,  the 
affection  was  equally  divided.  And  when  Jack  truly  said 
that  Phillis  did  not  love  him,  he  forgot  that  she  had  given 
him  already  all  that  she  knew  of  love  ;  in  that  her  thoughts, 
which  on  her  first  emancipation  leaped  forth,  bounding 
and  running  in  all  directions  with  a  wild  yearning  to  be- 
hold the  Great  Unknown,  were  now  returning  to  herself, 
and  mostly  flowed   steadily,  like   streams   of  electric   in- 


442  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

fluence,  in  the  direction  of  Jack;  inasmuch  as  she  referred 
unconsciously  everything  to  Jack,  as  she  dressed  for  him, 
drew  for  him,  pored  diligently  over  hated  reading-books 
for  him,  and  told  him  all  her  thoughts. 

I  have  not  told,  nor  can  I  tell,  of  the  many  walks  and 
talks  these  two  young  people  had  together.  Day  after 
day  Jack's  boat — that  comfortable  old  tub,  in  which  he 
could,  and  often  did,  cut  a  crab  without  spilling  the  con- 
tents into  the  river — lay  moored  off  Agatha's  lawn,  or 
rolled  slowly  up  and  down  the  river.  Jack  rowing,  while 
Phillis  steered,  sang,  talked,  and  laughed  This  was 
pleasant  in  the  morning;  but  it  was  far  more  pleasant  in 
the  evening,  when  the  river  was  so  quiet,  so  still  and  so 
black,  and  when  thoughts  crowded  into  the  girl's  brain, 
which  fled  like  spirits  when  she  tried  to  put  them  into 
words. 

Or  they  rode  together  along  the  leafy  roads  through 
Richmond  Park,  and  down  by  that  unknown  region,  far 
away  from  the  world,  where  heron  rise  up  from  the  waters 
edge,  where  the  wild  fowl  fly  above  the  lake  in  figures 
which  remind  one  of  Euclid's  definitions,  and  the  deer 
collect  in  herds  among  great  ferns  half  as  high  as  them  • 
selves.  There  they  would  let  the  horses  walk,  while 
Phillis,  with  the  slender  curving  lines  of  her  figure,  her 
dainty  dress  which  fitted  it  so  well,  and  her  sweet  face, 
made  the  heart  of  her  lover  hungry;  and  when  she  turned 
to  speak  to  him,  and  he  saw  in  the  clear  depths  of  her 
eyes  his  own  face  reflected,  his  passion  grew  almost  too 
much  for  him  to  bear. 

A  delicate  dainty  maiden,  who  was  yet  of  strong  and 
healthy  physique  j  one  who  did  not  disdain  to  own  a  love 
for  cake  and  strawberries,  cream  and  ices,  and  other 
pleasant  things;  who  had  no  young-ladyish  affectations; 
who  took  life  eagerly,  not  languidly.  And  not  a  coward, 
as  many  maidens  boast  to  be;  she  ruled  her  horse  with  a 
rein  as  firm  as  Jack  Dunquerque,  and  sat  him  as  steadily; 
she  clinched  her  little  fingers  and  set  her  lips  hard  when 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  443 

she  heard  a  tale  of  wrong;  her  eyes  lit  up  and  her  bosom 
heaved  when  she  heard  of  heroic  gest;  she  was  strong  to 
endure  and  to  do.  Not  every  girl  would,  as  Phillis  did, 
rise  in  the  morning  at  five  to  train  her  untaught  eyes  and 
hand  over  those  little  symbols  by  which  we  read  and 
write;  not  every  girl  would  patiently  begin  at  nineteen 
the  mechanical  drudgery  of  the  music-lesson.  And  she 
(.'id  this  in  confidence,  because  Jack  asked  her  every  day 
about  her  lessons,  and  Agatha  L'Estrange  was  pleased. 

The  emotion  which  is  the  next  after,  and  worse  than 
that  of  love,  is  sympathy.  Phillis  passed  through  the 
stages  of  curiosity  and  knowledge  before  she  arrived  at 
the  stage  of  sympathy.  Perhaps  she  was  not  far  from  the 
highest  stage  of  all. 

She  learned  something  every  day,  and  told  Jack  what 
it  was.  Sometimes  it  was  an  increase  in  her  knowledge  of 
evil.  Jack,  who  was  by  no  means  so  clever  as  his  biog- 
rapher, thought  that  a  pity.  His  idea  was  the  common 
one — that  a  maiden  should  be  kept  innocent  of  the  knowl- 
edge of  evil.  I  think  Jack  took  a  prejudiced,  even  a  Phil- 
istine, view  of  the  case.  He  put  himself  on  the  same  level 
as  the  Frenchman  who  keeps  his  daughter  out  of  mischief 
by  locking  her  up  in  a  convent.  It  is  not  the  knowledge 
of  evil  that  hurts,  any  more  than  the  knowledge  of  black- 
beetles,  earwigs,  slugs,  and  other  crawling  things;  the  pure 
in  spirit  cast  it  off,  just  as  the  gardener  who  digs  and 
delves  among  his  plants  washes  his  hands  and  is  clean. 
The  thing  that  hurts  is  the  suspicion  and  constant 
thought  of  evil;  the  loveliest  and  most  divine  creature  in 
the  world  is  she  who  neither  commits  any  ill,  nor  thinks 
any,  nor  suspects  others  of  ill — who  has  a  perfect  pity  for 
backsliders,  and  a  perfect  trust  in  the  people  around  her. 
Unfortunate  it  is  that  experience  of  life  turns  pity  to 
anger,  and  trust  into  hesitation. 

Or  they  would  be  out  upon  Agatha's  lawn,  playing  cro- 
quet, to  which  that  good  lady  still  adhered,  or  lawn-tennis, 
which  she  tolerated.     There  would  be  the  curate — he  had 


444  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

abandoned  that  design  of  getting  up  all  about  Laud,  but 
was  madly,  ecclesiastically  madly,  in  love  with  Phillis; 
there  would  be  occasionally  Ladds,  who,  in  his  heavy, 
kindly  way,  pleased  this  young  May  Queen,  besides, 
Ladds  was  fond  of  Jack.  There  would  be  Gilead  Beck 
in  the  straightest  of  frock  coats,  and  on  the  most  careful 
behaviour;  there  would  be  also  two  or  three  young  ladies, 
compared  with  whom  Phillis  was  as  Rosalind  at  the  court 
of  her  uncle,  or  as  Esther  among  the  damsels  of  the  Per- 
sian king's  seraglio,  so  fresh  and  so  incomparably  fair. 

"  Mrs.  L'Estrange,"  Jack  whispered  one  day,  **  I  am 
going  to  say  a  rude  thing.  Did  you  pick  out  the  other 
girls  on  purpose  to  set  off  Phillis  ?" 

"  What  a  shame.  Jack  !"  said  Agatha,  who  like  the  rest 
of  the  world  called  him  by  what  was  not  his  Christian 
name.  "  The  girls  are  very  nice — not  so  pretty  as  Phillis, 
but  good-looking,  all  of  them.  I  call  them  as  pretty  a  set 
of  girls  as  you  would  be  likely  to  see  on  any  lawn  this 
season." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack;  "  only  you  see  they  are  all  alike,  and 
Phillis  is  different." 

That  was  it — Phillis  was  different.  The  girls  were  grace- 
ful, pleasant,  and  well  bred.  But  Phillis  was  all  this,  and 
more.  The  others  followed  the  beaten  track,  in  which  the 
strength  of  life  is  subdued  and  its  intensity  forbidden. 
Phillis  was  in  earnest  about  everything,  quietly  in  earnest; 
not  openly  bent  on  enjoyment,  like  the  young  ladies  who 
run  down  Greenwich  Hill,  for  instance,  but  in  her  way 
making  others  feel  something  of  what  she  felt  herself.  Her 
intensity  was  visible  in  the  eager  face,  the  mobile  flashes  of 
her  sensitive  lips,  and  her  brightening  eyes.  And,  most 
unlike  her  neighbours,  she  even  forgot  her  own  dress, 
much  as  she  loved  the  theory  and  practice  of  dress,  when 
once  she  was  interested,  and  was  careless  about  theirs. 

It  was  not  pleasant  for  the  minor  stars.  They  felt  in  a 
vague  uncomfortable  way  that  Phillis  was  far  more  attract- 
ive; they  said  to  each  other  that  she   was  strange;  one 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  445 

who  pretended  to  know  more  French  than  the  others  said 
that  she  Midi's,  farouche. 

She  was  not  in  the  least  farouche ;^  and  the  young  lady 
her  calumniator  did  not  understand  the  adjective;  but 
farouche  she  continued  to  be  among  the  maidens  of 
Twickenham  and  Richmond. 

Jack  Dunquerque  heard  the  epithet  applied  on  one  oc- 
casion, and  burst  out  laughing. 

Phillis  farouche  !  Phillis,  without  fear  and  without  sus- 
picion ! 

But  then  they  do  teach  French  so  badly  at  girls' 
schools.  And  so  poor  Phillis  remained  ticketed  with  the 
adjective  which  least  of  any  belonged  to  her. 

A  pleasant  six  weeks  from  April  to  June,  while  the  late 
spring  blossomed  and  flowered  into  summer;  a  time  to  re- 
member all  his  life  afterwards  with  the  saddened  joy 
which,  despite  Dante's  observation,  does  still  belong  to 
the  memory  of  past  pleasures. 

But  every  pleasant  time  passes,  and  the  six  weeks  were 
over. 

Jack  was  to  "  slack  off."  The  phrase  struck  him,  ap- 
plied to  himself  and  Phillis,  as  simply  in  bad  taste;  but 
the  meaning  was  plain.  He  was  to  present  himself  at 
Twickenham  with  less  frequency. 

Accordingly  he  began  well  by  going  there  the  very  next 
day.  The  new  regime  has  to  be  commenced  somehow, 
and  Jack  began  his  at  once.  He  pulled  up  in  his  tub.  It 
was  a  cloudy  and  windy  day;  drops  of  rain  fell  from  time 
to  time;  the  river  was  swept  by  sudden  gusts  which  came 
driving  down  the  stream,  marked  by  broad  black  patches, 
there  were  no  other  boats  out,  and  Jack  struggled  up- 
wards against  the  current;  the  exercise  at  least  was  a 
relief  to  the  oppression  of  his  thoughts. 

What  was  he  to  do  with  himself  after  the  "slacking  off" 
had  begun — after  that  day,  in  fact  ?  The  visits  might 
drop  to  twice  a  week,  then  once  a  week,  and  then  ?  But 
surely  Colquhoun  would  be  satisfied  with  such   a  measure 


446  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

of  self-denial.  In  the  intervals — say  from  Saturday  to 
Saturday — he  could  occupy  himself  in  thinking  about  her. 
He  might  write  to  her — would  that  be  against  the  lettel 
of  the  law  ?  It  was  clearly  against  the  spirit.  And — an- 
other  consideration — it  was  no  use  writing  unless  he  wrote 
in  printed  characters,  and  in  words  of  not  more  than  twc 
syllables.  He  thought  of  such  a  love-letter,  and  o{ 
Phillis  gravely  spelling  it  out  word  by  word  to  Mrs.  L'Es- 
trange.  For  poor  Phillis  had  not  as  yet  accustomed  her- 
self to  look  on  the  printed  page  as  a  vehicle  for  thought, 
although  Agatha  read  to  her  every  day.  She  regarded  ii 
as  the  means  of  conveying  to  the  reader  facts  such  as  the 
elementary  reading-book  delights  to  set  forth  ;  so  dry  that 
the  adult  reader,  if  a  woman,  presently  feels  the  dust  in 
her  eyes,  and  if  a  man,  is  fain  to  get  up  and  call  wildly  for 
quarts  of  bitter  beer.  No  ;  Phillis  was  not  educated  up  to 
the  reception  of  a  letter. 

He  would,  he  thought,  sit  in  the  least-frequented  room 
of  his  club — the  drawing-room — and  with  a  book  of  some 
kind  before  him,  just  for  a  pretence,  would  pass  the  leaden 
hours  in  thinking  of  Phillis's  perfections.  Heavens ! 
when  was  there  a  moment,  by  day  or  by  night,  that  he  did 
not  think  of  them  ? 

Bump  !  It  was  the  bow  of  the  ship,  which  knew  by 
experience  very  well  when  to  stop,  and  grounded  herself 
without  any  conscious  volition  on  his  part  at  the  accus- 
tomed spot. 

Jack  jumped  out,  and  fastened  the  painter  to  the  tree 
to  which  Phillis  had  once  tied  him.  Then  he  strode  across 
the  lawns  and  flower-beds,  and  made  for  the  little  morn- 
ing-room, where  he  hoped  to  find  the  ladies. 

He  found  one  of  them.  Fortune  sometimes  favors 
lovers.     It  was  the  younger  one — Phillis  herself. 

She  was  bending  over  her  work  with  brush  and  colour- 
box,  looking  as  serious  as  if  all  her  future  depended  on 
the  success  of  that  particular  picture  ;  beside  her,  tossed 
contemptuously  aside,  lay  the  much-despised  I.esson-Book 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  447 

in  Reading  ;  for  she  had  done  her  daily  task.  She  did 
not  hear  Jack  step  in  at  the  open  window,  and  went  on 
with  her  painting. 

She  wore  a  dress  made  of  that  stuff  which  looks  like 
brown  holland  till  you  come  close  to  it,  and  then  you 
think  it  is  silk,  but  are  not  quite  certain,  and  I  believe  they 
call  it  Indian  tussore.  Round  her  dainty  waist  was  a 
leathern  belt  set  in  silver  with  a  chdtelaine,  like  a  small 
armoury  of  deadly  weapons  ;  and  for  colour  she  had  a  crim- 
son ribbon  about  her  neck.  To  show  that  the  ribbon  was 
not  entirely  meant  for  vanity,  but  had  its  uses,  Phillis  had 
slung  upon  it  a  cross  of  Maltese  silver-work,  which  I  fear 
Jack  had  given  her  himself.  And  below  the  cross,  where 
her  rounded  figure  showed  it  off,  she  had  placed  a  little 
bunch  of  sweet  peas.  Such  a  dainty  damsel !  Not  con- 
tent with  the  flower  in  her  dress,  she  had  stuck  a  white 
jasamine-blossom  in  her  hair.  All  these  things  Jack  noted 
with  speechless  admiration. 

Then  she  began  to  sing  in  a  low  voice,  all  to  herself,  a 
a  little  French  ballad  which  Mrs.  L'Estrange  had  taught 
her — one  of  the  sweet  old  French  songs. 

She  was  painting  in  the  other  window,  at  a  table  drawn 
up  to  face  it.  The  curtains  were  partly  pulled  together, 
and  the  blind  was  half  drawn  down,  so  that  she  sat  in  a 
subdued  light,  in  which  only  her  face  v/as  lit  up,  like  the 
faces  in  a  certain  kind  of  photograph,  while  her  hair  and 
figure  lay  in  shadow.  The  hangings  were  of  some 
light-rose  hue,  which  tinted  the  whole  room,  and  threw  a 
warm  colouring  over  the  old-fashioned  furniture,  the  pic- 
tures, the  books,  the  flowers  on  the  tables,  and  the  ferns  in 
their  glasses.  Mrs.  L'Estrange  was  no  follower  after  the 
new  school.  Neutral  tints  had  small  charms  for  her  ;  she 
liked  the  warmth  and  glow  of  the  older  fashion  in  which 
she  had  been  brought  up. 

It  looked  to  Jack  Dunquerque  like  some  shrine  dedica- 
ted to  peace  and  love,  with  Phillis  for  its  priestess — or  even 
its    goddess.     Outside  the   skies  were   grey ;   the   wind 


44^  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

swept  down  the  river  with  driving  rain  ;  here  was  warmth, 
colour,  and  brightness.     So  he  stood  still  and  watched. 

And  as  he  waited  an  overwhelming  passion  of  love 
seized  him.  If  the  world  was  well  lost  for  Antony  when 
he  threw  it  all  away  for  a  queen  no  longer  young,  and  the 
mother  of  one  son  at  least  almost  grown  up,  what  would 
it  have  been  had  his  Cleopatra  welcomed  him  in  all  the 
splendour  of  her  white  Greek  beauty  at  sweet  seventeen  ? 
There  was  no  world  to  be  lost  for  this  obscure  cadet  of  a 
noble  house,  but  all  the  world  to  be  won.  His  world  was 
before  his  eyes  ;  it  was  an  unconscious  maid,  ignorant  of 
her  own  surpassing  worth,  and  of  the  power  of  her  beauty. 
To  win  her  was  to  be  the  lord  of  all  the  world  he  cared 
for. 

Presently  she  laid  down  her  brush,  and  raised  her  head. 
Then  she  pushed  aside  the  curtains,  and  looked  out  upon 
the  gardens.  The  rain  drove  against  the  windows,  and 
the  wind  beat  about  the  branches  of  the  lilacs  on  the  lawn. 
She  shivered,  and  pulled  the  curtains  together  again. 

"  I  wish  Jack  were  here,"  she  said  to  herself. 

"  He  is  here,  Phil,"  Jack  replied. 

She  looked  round,  and  darted  across  the  room,  catching 
him  by  both  hands. 

"  Jack  !  Oh,  I  am  glad  !  There  is  nobody  at  home. 
Agatha  has  gone  up  to  town,  and  I  am  quite  alone. 
What  shall  we  do  this  afternoon  ? " 

Clearly  the  right  thing  for  him  to  propose  was  that  he 
should  instantly  leave  the  young  lady,  and  row  himself 
back  to  Richmond.  This,  however,  was  not  what  he  did 
propose.  On  the  contrary,  he  kept  Phillis's  hands  in  his, 
and  held  them  tight,  looking  in  her  upturned  face,  where 
he  saw  nothing  but  undisguised  joy  at  his  appearance. 

"  Shall  we  talk  ?  Shall  I  play  to  you }  Shall  I  draw 
you  a  picture  ?    What  shall  we  do,  Jack  ?  " 

"Well,  Phil,  I  think — perhaps— we  had  better  talk." 

Something  in  his  voice  struck  her  ;  she  looked  at  him 

sh'T^ply. 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  449 

"What  has  happened,  Jack ?    You  do  not  look  happy." 

"  Nothing,  Phil — nothing  but  what  I  might  have  ex- 
pected." But  he  looked  so  dismal  that  it  was  quite  cer- 
tain he  had  not  expected  it. 

"  Tell  me,  Jack." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Jack,  what  is  the  good  of  being  friends  if  you  wonV. 
tell  me  what  makes  you  unhappy  ?  " 

*'  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you,  Phil.  I  don't  see  a  way 
to  begin." 

"  Sit  down,  and  begin  somehow."  She  placed  him  com- 
fortably in  the  largest  chair  in  the  room,  and  then  she 
stood  in  front  of  him,  and  looked  in  his  face  with  compas- 
sionate eyes.  The  sight  of  those  deep-brown  orbs,  so  full 
of  light  and  pity,  smote  her  lover  with  a  kind  of  madness. 
"  What  is  it  makes  people  unhappy  ?    Are  you  ill  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head,  and  laughed. 

"  No,  Phil ;  I  am  never  ill.  You  see,  I  am  not  exactly 
unhappy " 

"  But  Jack,  you  look  so  dismal." 

"  Yes,  that  is  it  ;  I  am  a  little  dismal.  No,  Phil — no.  I 
am  really  unhappy,  and  you  are  the  cause." 

"  I  the  cause  ?     But,  Jack,  why  ? " 

"  I  had  a  talk  with  your  guardian,  Lawrence  Colquhoun, 
yesterday.  It  was  all  about  you.  And  he  wants  me — not 
to  come  here  so  often,  in  fact.     And  I  musn't  come." 

"  But  why  not  ?    What  does  Lawrence  mean  ?  " 

**  That  is  just  what  I  cannot  explain  to  you.  You  must 
try  to  forgive  me." 

"  Forgive  you.  Jack  ?  " 

"  You  see,  Phil,  I  have  behaved  badly  from  the  begin- 
ning. I  ought  not  to  have  called  upon  you  as  I  did  in 
Carnavon  Square  ;  I  ought  not  to  have  let  you  call  me 
Jack,  nor  should  I  have  called  you  Phil.  It  is  altogether 
improper  in  the  eyes  of  the  world." 

She  was  silent  for  a  while. 

"Perhaps   I   have   known.   Jack,   that   it   was   a   little 


45©  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

unusual.  Other  girls  haven't  got  a  Jack  Dunquerque,  have 
they?     Poor  things!     That  is  all  you  mean,  isn't  it,  Jack  ?" 

"  Phil,  don't  look  at  me  like  that !  You  don't  know — 
you  can't  understand — No  ;  it  is  more  than  unusual ;  it  is 
quite  wrong." 

"I  have  done  nothing  wrong,"  the  girl  said  proudly. 
"  If  I  had,  my  conscience  would  make  me  unhappy.  But 
I  do  begin  to  understand  what  you  mean.  Last  week 
Agatha  asked  me  if  I  was  not  thinking  too  much  about 
you.  And  the  curate  made  me  laugh  because  he  said, 
quite  by  himself  in  a  corner,  you  know,  that  Mr. 
Dunquerque  was  a  happy  man  ;  and  when  I  asked 
him,  why  he  turned  very  red,  and  said  it  was  because  I 
had  given  to  him  what  all  the  world  would  long  to  have. 
He  meant,  Jack  " 

"  I  wish  he  was  here,"  Jack  cried  hotly,  "  for  me  to 
wring  his  neck  !" 

"  And  one  day  Laura  Herries  " 

"  That's  the  girl  who  said  you  were  farouche,  Phil. 
Go  on." 

«'  Was  talking  to  Agatha  about  some  young  lady  who 
had  got  compromised  by  a  gentleman's  attentions.  I 
asked  why,  and  she  replied  quite  sharply  that  if  I  did  not 
know,  no  one  could  know.  Then  she  got  up  and  went 
away.  Agatha  was  angry  about  it,  I  could  see;  but  she 
only  said  something  about  understanding  when  I  come 
out." 

"  Miss  Herries  ought  to  have  her  neck  wrung,  too,  as 
well  as  the  curate,"  said  Jack. 

"Compromise — improper."  Phil  beat  her  little  foot  on 
the  floor.  "  What  does  it  all  mean  ?  Jack,  tell  me — what 
is  this  wrong  thing  that  you  and  I  have  done  ?" 

**  Not  you,  Phil;  a  thousand  times  not  you." 

"  Then  I  do  not  care  much  what  other  people  say,"  she 
replied  simply.  "  Do  you  know.  Jack,  it  seems  to  me  as 
if  we  never  ought  to  care  for  what  people,  besides  people 
we  love,  say  about  us." 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  4$! 

"  But  it  is  I  who  have  done  wrong,"  said  Jack. 
"  Have  you,  Jack  ?  Oh,  then  I  forgive  you.  I  think  I 
know  you.  You  should  have  come  to  me  with  an  unreal 
smile  on  your  face,  and  pretended  the  greatest  deference 
to  my  opinion,  even  when  you  knew  it  wasn't  worth  hav- 
ing. That  is  what  the  curate  does  to  young  ladies.  I  saw 
hira  yesterday  taking  Miss  Herries's  opinion  on  Holman 
Hunt's  picture.  She  said  it  was  'sweetly  pretty.'  He 
said,  *  Do  you  really  think  so  ?'  in  such  a  solemn  voice,  as 
If  he  wasn't  quite  sure  that  the  phrase  summed  up  the 
whole  picture,  but  was  going  to  think  it  over  quietly. 
Don't  laugh,  Jack,  because  I  cannot  read  like  other  people, 
and  all  I  have  to  go  by  is  what  Mr.  Dyson  told  me,  and 
Agatha  tells  me,  and  what  I  see — and — and  what  you  tell 
me.  Jack,  which  is  worth  all  the  rest  to  me." 

The  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  but  only  for  a  moment, 
and  she  brushed  them  aside. 

"  And  I  forgive  you.  Jack,  all  the  more  because  you  did 
not  treat  me  as  you  would  have  treated  the  girls  who 
seem  to  me  so  lifeless  and  languid,  and — Jack,  it  may  be 
wrong  to  say  it,  but  Oh,  so  small  !  What  compliment 
could  you  have  paid  me  better  than  to  single  me  out  for 
your  friend — you  who  have  seen  so  much  and  done  so 
much — my  friend — mine  ?  We  were  friends  from  the  first, 
were  we  not  ?  And  I  have  never  since  hidden  anything 
from  you,  Jack,  and  never  will." 

He  kept  it  down  still,  this  mighty  yearning  that  filled 
his  heart,  but  he  could  not  bear  to  look  her  in  the  face. 
Every  word  that  she  said  stabbed  him  like  a  knife,  because 
it  showed  her  childish  innocence  and  her  utter  uncon- 
sciousness of  what  her  words  might  mean. 

And  then  she  laid  her  little  hand  in  his. 

"  And  now  you  have  compromised  me,  as  they  would 
say  ?  What  does  it  matter  Jack  ?  We  can  go  on  always 
just  the  same  as  we  have  been  doing,  can  we  not  ?" 

He  shook  his  head  and  answered  huskily,  "  No,  Phil. 
Your  guardian  will  not  allow  it.    You  must  obey  him.  He 


45*  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

says  that  I  am  to  come  here  less  frequently;  that  I  must 
not  do  you — he  is  quite  right,  Phil — any  more  mischief; 
and  that  you  are  to  have  your  first  season  in  London 
without  any  ties  or  entanglements," 

"  My  guardian  leaves  me  alone  here  with  Agatha.  It 
is  you  who  have  been  my  real  guardian,  Jack.  I  shall  do 
what  you  tell  me  to  do." 

"  I  want  to  do  what  is  best  for  you,  Phil — but Child" 

— he  caught  her  by  the  hands,  and  she  half  fell,  half  knelt 
at  his  feet,  and  looked  up  in  his  eyes  with  her  face  full  of 
trouble  and  emotion — "  child,  must  I  tell  you  ?  Could 
not  Agatha  L'Estrange  tell  you  that  there  is  something 
in  the  world  very  different  from  friendship  ?  Is  it  left  for 
me  to  teach  you  ?    They  call  it  Love,  Phil." 

He  whispered  the  last  words. 

"  Love  ?     But  I  know  all  about  it,  Jack." 

"  No,  Phil,  you  know  nothing.  It  isn't  the  love  that 
you  bear  to  Agatha  that  I  mean." 

"Is  it  the  love  I  have  for  you.  Jack  ?"  she  asked  in  all 
innocence. 

"  It  may  be,  Phil.  Tell  me  only  " — he  was  reckless  now, 
amd  spoke  fast  and  fiercely — "  tell  me  if  you  love  me  as  I 
love  you.  Try  to  tell  me.  I  love  you  so  much  that  I  can- 
not sleep  for  thinking  of  you;  and  I  think  of  you  all  day 
long.  It  seems  as  if  my  life  must  have  been  a  long  blank 
before  I  saw  you;  all  my  happiness  is  to  be  with  you;  to 
think  of  going  on  without  you  maddens  me." 

"Poor  Jack!"  she  said  softly.  She  did  not  offer  to 
withdraw  her  hands,  but  let  them  lie  in  his  warm  and  ten- 
der grasp. 

"  My  dear,  my  darling — my  queen  and  pearl  of  girls — 
who  can  help  loving  you  ?  And  even  to  be  with  you,  to 
have  you  close  to  me,  to  hold  your  hands  in  mine,  that 
isn't  enough." 

"  What  more — O  Jack,  Jack  !  what  more  ?" 

She  began  to  tremble,  and  she  tried  to  take  back  hei 
hands.     He  let  them  go,  but  before  she  could   change 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  453 

her  position  he  bent  down,  threw  his  arms  about  her,  and 
held  her  face  close  to  his  while  he  kissed  it  a  thousand 
times. 

"  What  more  ?  My  darling,  my  angel,  this — and  this  ! 
Phil,  Phil !  wake  at  last  from  your  long  childhood;  leave 
the  Garden  of  Eden  where  you  have  wandered  so  many 
years,  and  come  out  into  the  other  world — the  world  of 
love.  My  dear,  my  dear  !  can  you  love  me  a  little,  only  a 
little,  in  return  ?  We  are  all  so  different  from  what  you 
thought  us;  you  will  find  out  some  day  that  I  am  not 
clever  and  good  at  all;  that  I  have  only  one  thing  to  give 
you — my  love.  Phil,  Phil,  answer  me — speak  to  me — for- 
give me  !" 

He  let  her  go,  for  she  tore  herself  from  him  and  sprang 
to  her  feet,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sobbing 
aloud. 

"  Forgive  me — forgive  me!"   It  was  all  that  he  could  say. 

"Jack,  what  is  it  ?  what  does  it  mean  ?  O  Jack  ! — she 
lifted  her  face  and  looked  about  her,  with  hands  out- 
stretched as  one  who  feels  in  the  darkness;  her  cheeks 
were  white  and  her  eyes  wild — "  what  does  it  mean  ? 
what  is  it  you  have  said  ?  what  is  it  you  have  done  ?" 

"Phil!" 

"  Yes  !  Hush  !  don't  speak  to  me — not  yet.  Jack. 
Wait  a  moment.  My  brain  is  full  of  strange  thoughts  " — 
she  put  out  trembling  hands  before  her,  like  one  who 
wakes  suddenly  in  a  dream,  and  spoke  with  short,  quick 
breath.  "Something  seems  to  have  come  upon  me. 
Help  me,  Jack  !     Oh,  help  me  !     I  am  frightened." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  soothed  and  caressed  her 
like  a  child,  while  she  sobbed  and  cried. 

"  Look  at  me,  Jack,"  she  said  presently."  "  Tell  me, 
am  I  the  same  ?     Is  there  any  change  in  me  ?" 

"Yes,  Phil;  yes,  my  darling.  You  are  changed.  Your 
sweet  eyes  are  full  of  tears,  like  the  skies  in  April;  and 
your  cheeks  are  pale  and  white.  Let  me  kiss  them  till 
they  get  their  own  colour  again." 


454  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

He  did  kiss  them,  and  she  stood  unresisting,  But  she 
trembled. 

"  I  know,  Jack,  now,"  she  said  softly.  "  It  all  came 
upon  me  in  a  moment,  when  your  lips  touched  mine.  O 
Jack,  Jack  !  it  was  as  if  something  snapped;  as  if  a  veil 
fell  from  my  eyes.  I  know  now  what  you  meant  when  you 
said  just  now  that  you  loved  me." 

"  Do  you.  Phil  ?     And  can  you  love  me,  too  ?" 

"  Yes,  Jack.  I  will  tell  you  when  I  am  able  to  talk 
again.     Let  me  sit  down.     Sit  with  me.  Jack." 

She  drew  him  beside  her  on  the  sofa  and  murmured 
low,  whi4e  he  held  her  hands. 

"  Do  you  like  to  sit  just  so,  holding  my  hands  ?  Are 
you  better  now.  Jack  ?" 

"  Do  you  think.  Jack,  that  I  can  have  always  loved  you 
— without  knowing  it  all  all — ^just  as  you  love  me  ?  O  my 
poor  Jack  ! 

"  My  heart  beats  so  fast.  And  I  am  so  happy.  What 
have  you  said  to  me.  Jack,  that  I  should  be  so  happy  ? 

"  See,  the  sun  has  come  out — and  the  showers  are  over 
and  gone — and  the  birds  are  singing — all  the  sweet  birds 
— ^they  are  singing  for  me,  Jack,  for  you  and  me — Oh,  for 
you  and  me  !  " 

Her  voice  broke  down  again,  and  she  hid  her  face  upon 
her  lover's  shoulder,  crying  happy  tears. 

He  called  her  a  thousand  endearing  names  ;  he  told  her 
that  they  would  be  always  together  ;  that  she  had  made 
him  the  happiest  man  in  all  the  world  ;  that  he  loved  her 
more  than  any  girl  ever  had  been  loved  in  the  history  of 
mankind  ;  that  she  was  the  crown  and  pearl  and  queen  of 
all  the  women  who  ever  lived  ;  and  then  she  looked  up, 
smiling  through  her  tears. 

Ah,  happy,  happy  day  !  Ah,  day  for  ever  to  be  remem- 
bered even  when,  if  ever,  the  years  shall  bring  its  fiftieth 
anniversary  to  an  aged  pair,  whose  children  and  grand- 
children stand  around  their  trembling  feet  ?  Ah,  mo- 
ments that  live  for  ever  in  the  memory  of  a  life  !     They 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  455 

die,  but  are  immortal.  They  perish  all  too  quickly,  but 
they  bring  forth  the  precious  fruits  of  love  and  constancy, 
of  trust,  affection,  good  works,  peace,  and  joy,  which  never 
perish. 

"  Take  me  on  the  river,  Jack,"  she  said  presently.  "  I 
want  to  think  it  all  over  again,  and  try  to  understand  it 
better." 

He  fetched  cushion  and  wrapper,  for  the  boat  was  wet, 
and  placed  her  tenderly  in  the  boat.  And  then  he  began 
to  pull  gently  up  the  stream. 

The  day  had  suddenly  changed.  Tne  morning  had 
been  gloomy  and  dull,  but  the  afternoon  was  bright  ;  the 
strong  wind  was  dropped  for  a  light  cool  breeze  ;  the 
swans  were  cruising  about  with  their  lordly  pretence  of 
not  caring  for  things  external  ;  and  the  river  ran  clear  and 
bright. 

They  were  very  silent  now ;  the  girl  sat  in  her  place, 
looking  with  full  soft  eyes  on  the  wet  and  dripping 
branches  or  in  the  cool  depths  of  the  stream. 

Presently  they  passed  an  old  gentleman  fishing  in  a 
punt;  he  was  the  same  old  gentleman  whom  Phillis  saw  one 
morning — now  so  long  ago — when  he  had  that  little  misfor- 
tune we  have  narrated,  and  tumbled  backwards  in  his  ark. 
He  saw  them  coming,  and  adjusted  his  spectacles. 

"  Youth  and  Beauty  again,"  he  murmured.  "  And  she's 
been  crying.  That  young  fellow  has  said  something  cruel 
to  her.  Wish  I  could  break  his  head  for  him.  The  pretty 
creature  !  He'll  come  to  a  bad  end,  that  young  man." 
Then  he  impaled  an  immense  worm  savagely  and  went  on 
fishing. 

A  very  foolish  old  gentleman  this. 

"  I  am  trying  to  make  it  all  out  quite  clearly,  Jack," 
Phillis  presently  began.  "And  it  is  so  difficult."  Her 
eyes  were  still  bright  with  tears,  but  she  did  not  tremble 
now,  and  the  smile  was  back  upon  her  lips. 

"  My  darling,  let  it  remain  difficult.  Only  tell  me  now, 
if  you  can,  that  you  love  me." 


45^  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"  Yes,  Jack,"  she  said,  not  in  the  frank  and  childish  un- 
consciousness of  yesterday,  but  with  the  soft  blush  of  a 
woman  who  is  wooed.  "  Yes,  Jack,  I  know  now  that  I  do 
love  you,  as  you  love  me,  because  my  heart  beat  when 
you  kissed  me,  and  I  felt  all  of  a  sudden  that  you  were  all 
the  world  to  me." 

"  Phil,  I  don't  deserve  it.     I  don't  deserve  you." 

"  Not  deserve  me  ?  O  Jack,  you  make  me  feel  humble 
when  you  say  that !     And  I  am  so  proud. 

"  So  proud  and  so  happy,"  she  went  on,  after  a  pause. 
"  And  the  girls  who  know  all  along — how  do  they  find  it 
out  ? — want  every  one  for  herself  this  great  happiness,  too. 
I  have  heard  them  talk  and  never  understood  till  now. 
Poor  girls  !  I  wish  they  had  their — their  own  Jack,  not 
my  Jack." 

Her  lover  had  no  words  to  reply. 

"  Poor  boy  !  And  you  went  about  with  your  secret  so 
long.     Tell  me  how  long.  Jack  ? " 

♦'  Since  the  very  first  day  I  saw  you  in  Carnarvon 
Square,  Phil." 

"  All  that  time  ?  Did  you  love  me  on  that  day — not  the 
first  day  of  all.  Jack  ?     Oh,  surely  not  the  very  first  day  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  not  as  I  love  you  now — now  that  I  know  you  so 
well,  my  Phillis — mine — but  only  then  because  you  were 
so  pretty." 

"  Do  men  always  fall  in  love  with  a  girl  because  she  is 
pretty?  ' 

"  Yes,  Phil.  They  begin  because  she  is  pretty,  and  they 
love  her  more  every  day  when  she  is  so  sweet  and  so 
good  as  my  darling  Phil." 

All  this  time  Jack  had  been  leaning  on  his  oars,  and  the 
boat  was  drifting  slowly  down  the  current.  It  was  now 
close  to  the  punt  where  the  old  gentleman  sat  watching 
them. 

"  They  have  made  it  up,"  he  said.  "  That's  right.  '  And 
he  chuckled. 

She  looked   dreamy  and  contented ;    the    tears   were 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  457 

gone  out  of  her  eyes,  and  a  sweet  softness  lay  there,  like 
the  sunshine  on  a  field  of  grass. 

"  She  is  a  rose  of  Sharon  and  a  lily  of  the  valley,"  said 
this  old  gentleman.  **  That  young  fellow  ought  to  be 
banished  from  the  State  for  making  other  people  envious 
of  his  luck.     Looks  a  good-tempered  rogue,  too." 

He  observed  with  delight  that  they  were  thinking  of 
each  other  while  the  boat  drifted  nearer  to  his  punt. 
Presently — bump — bump  ! 

Jack  seized  his  sculls  and  looked  up  guiltily.  The  old 
gentleman  was  nodding  and  smiling  to  Phillis. 

"  Made  it  up  ?"  he  asked  most  impertinently.  "  That  is 
right,  that  is  right.  Give  you  joy,  sir,  give  you  joy.  Wish 
you  both  happiness.  Wish  I  had  it  to  do  all  over  again. 
God  bless  you,  my  dear  !" 

His  jolly  red  face  beamed  like  the  setting  sun  under  his 
big  straw  hat,  and  he  wagged  his  head  and  laughed. 

Jack  laughed  too;  at  other  times  he  would  have  thought 
the  old  angler  an  extremely  impertinent  person.  Now  he 
only  laughed. 

Then  he  turned  the  boat's  head,  and  rowed  his  bride 
swiftly  homewards. 

"  Phil,  I  am  like  Jason  bringing  home  Medea,"  he  said, 
with  a  faint  reminiscence  of  classical  tradition.  I  have 
explained  that  Jack  was  not  clever. 

**  I  hope  not,"  said  Phil;  "Medea  was  a  dreadful 
person." 

"Then  Paris  bringing  home  Helen — No,  Phil;  only 
your  lover  bringing  home  the  sweetest  girl  that  ever  was. 
And  worth  five  and  thirty  Helens." 

When  they  landed,  Agatha  L'Estange  was  on  the  lawn 
waiting  for  them.  To  her  surprise,  Phillis,  on  disem- 
barking, took  Jack  by  the  arm,  and  his  hand  closed  over 
hers.  Mrs.  L'Estrange  gasped.  And  in  Phillis's  tear- 
b-ight  eyes,  she  saw  at  last  the  light  and  glow  of  love; 
and  in  Phillis's  blushing  face  she  saw  the  happy  pride  of 
the  celestial  Venus  who  has  met  her  only  love. 


45^  1HE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"Children — children  !  she  said,  "what  is  this  ?" 
Phillis  made  answer,  in  words  which    Abraham  Dyson 
used  to  read  to  her  from  a  certain  Book,  but  which  she 
never  understood  till   now — made   answer  with   her  face 
upturned  to  her  lover — 
"  I  am  my  beloved's,  and  his  desire  is  toward  me." 

They  were  a  quiet  party  that  evening.  Jack  did  not 
want  to  talk.  He  asked  Phillis  to  sing;  he  sat  by  in  a  sort 
of  rapture  while  her  voice,  in  the  songs  she  most  affected, 
whispered  and  sang  to  his  soul  not  words,  but  suggestions 
of  every  innocent  delight.  She  recovered  something  of 
her  gaiety,  but  their  usual  laughter  was  hushed  as  if  by 
some  unexpressed  thought.  It  will  never  come  back  to 
her  again,  that  old  mirth  and  light  heart  of  childhood. 
She  felt  while  she  played  as  if  she  was  in  some  great 
cathedral;  the  fancies  of  her  brain  built  over  her  head  a 
pile  more  mystic  and  wonderful  than  any  she  had  seen. 
Its  arches  towered  to  the  sky;  its  aisles  led  far  away  into 
dim  space.  She  was  walking  slowly  up  the  church  hand- 
in-hand  with  Jack,  towards  a  great  rose  light  in  the  east. 
An  anthem  of  praise  and  thanksgiving  echoed  along  the 
corridors,  and  pealed  like  thunder  among  the  million 
rafters  of  the  roof.  Round  them  floated  faces  which 
looked  and  smiled.  And  she  heard  the  voice  of  Abraham 
Dyson  in  her  ear — 

"  Life  should  be  two-  fold,  not  single.  That,  Phillis,  is 
the  great  secret  of  the  world.  Every  man  is  a  priest; 
every  woman  is  a  priestess;  it  is  a  sacrament  which  you 
have  learned  of  Jack  this  day.  Go  on  with  him  in  faith 
and  hope.  Love  is  the  Universal  Church  and  Heaven  is 
everywhere.  Live  in  it;  die  in  it;  and  dying  begin  your 
life  of  love  again." 

"  Phil,"  cried  Jack,  "  what  is  it  ?  You  look  as  if  you 
had  seen  a  vision." 

"  I  have  heard  the  voice  of  Abraham  Dyson,"  she  said 
solemnly.     "  He  is  satisfied  and  pleased  with  us.  Jack." 


TH       GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  459 

That  was  nothing  to  what  followed,  for  presently  there 
occurred  a  really  wonderful  thing. 

On  Phillis's  table — they  were  all  three  sitting  in  the 
pleasant  morning-room — lay  among  her  lesson-books  and 
drawing  materials  a  portfolio.  Jack  turned  it  over  care- 
lessly. There  was  nothing  at  all  in  it  except  a  single  sheet 
of  white  paper,  partly  written  over.  But  there  had  been 
other  sheets,  and  these  were  torn  off. 

"  It  is  an  old  book  full  of  writing,"  said  Phillis  care- 
lessly. "  I  have  torn  out  all  the  leaves  to  make  rough 
sketches  at  the  back.     There  is  only  one  left  now." 

Jack  took  it  up  and  read  the  scanty  remnant. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  he  cried.  "  Have  you  really  de- 
stroyed all  these  pages,  Phil  ? " 

Then  he  laughed. 

"  What  is  it,  Jack  ?  Yes  I  have  torn  them  all  out,  drawn 
rough  things  on  them,  and  then  burnt  them,  every  one." 

"  Is  it  anything  important  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  L'Estrange. 

"  I  should  think  it  was  important  !  "  said  Jack.  "  Ho, 
ho  !  Phillis  has  destroyed  the  whole  of  Mr.  Dyson's  lost 
chapter  on  the  Coping-stone.  And  now  his  will  is  not 
worth  the  paper  it  is  written  on." 

It  was  actually  so.  Bit  by  bit,  while  Joseph  Jagenal 
was  leaving  no  corner  unturned  in  the  old  house  at  High- 
gate  in  search  of  the  precious  document,  without  which 
Mr.  Dyson's  will  was  so  much  waste  paper,  this  young 
lady  was  contentedly  cutting  out  the  sheets  one  by  one 
and  using  them  up  for  her  first  unfinished  groups.  Of 
course  she  could  not  read  one  word  of  what  was  written. 
It  was  a  fitting  Nemesis  to  the  old  man's  plans  that  they 
were  frustrated  through  the  very  means  by  which  he 
wished  to  regenerate  the  world. 

And  now  nothing  at  all  left  but  a  tag  end,  a  bit  of  the 
peroration,  the  last  words  of  the  final  summing-up.  And 
this  was  what  Jack  read  aloud — 

"...  these  provisions  and  no  other.  Thus  will  I 
have  my  College  for  the  better  Education   of  Women 


460  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

founded  and  maintained.  Thus  shall  it  grow  and  develop 
till  the  land  is  full  of  the  gracious  influence  of  womankind 
at  her  best  and  noblest.  The  Coping-stone  of  a  girl's 
Education  should  be,  and  must  be,  Love.  When  Phillis 
Fleming,  my  ward,  whose  example  shall  be  taken  as  the 
model  for  my  college,  feels  the  passion  of  Love,  her  educa- 
tion is  finally  completed.  She  will  have  much  afterwards 
to  learn.  But  self-denial,  sympathy,  and  faith  come  best 
through  Love.  Woman  is  born  to  be  loved  ;  that  woman 
only  approaches  the  higher  state  who  has  been  wooed  and 
who  has  loved.  When  Phillis  loves,  she  will  give  herself 
without  distrust  and  wholly  to  the  man  who  wins  her.  It 
is  my  prayer,  my  last  prayer  for  her,  that  he  may  be 
worthy  of  her."  Here  Jack's  voice  faltered  for  a  moment. 
"  Her  education  has  occupied  my  whole  thoughts  for  thir- 
teen years.  It  has  been  the  business  of  my  later  years. 
Now  I  send  her  out  into  the  world  prepared  for  all,  except 
treachery,  neglect,  and  ill-treatment.  Perhaps  her  char- 
acter would  pass  through  these  and  come  out  the  brighter. 
But  we  do  not  know  ;  we  cannot  tell  beforehand.  Lord, 
lead  her  not  into  temptation  ;  and  so  deal  with  her  lover 
as  he  shall  deal  with  her." 

"  Amen,"  said  Agatha  L'Estrange. 

But  Phillis  sprang  to  her  feet  and  threw  up  her  arms. 

*'  I  have  found  it  !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  how  often  did  he 
talk  to  me  about  the  Coping-stone.  Now  I  have  nothing 
more  to  learn.  O  Jack,  Jack  !  "  she  fell  into  his  arms,  and 
lay  there  as  if  it  was  her  proper  place.  "  We  have  found 
the  Coping-stone — you  and  I  between  us — and  it  is  here, 
it  is  here  ! " 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  46X 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

"  Tla  well  to  be  off  with  the  old  love, 
Thongh  you  never  get  on  with  a  new." 

DURING  the  two  or  three  weeks  following  their  suc- 
cess with  Gilead  Beck  the  Twins  were  conspicu- 
ous, had  any  one  noticed  them,  for  a  recklessness  of  ex- 
penditure quite  without  parallel  in  their  previous  history. 
They  plunged  as  regarded  hansoms,  paying  whatever  was 
asked  with  an  airy  prodigality;  they  dined  at  the  club 
every  day,  and  drank  champagne  at  all  hours;  they  took 
half-guinea  stalls  at  theatres:  they  went  down  to  Green- 
wich and  had  fish-dinners;  they  appeared  with  new  chains 
and  rings;  they  even  changed  their  regular  hours  of  sleep, 
and  sometimes  passed  the  whole  day  broad  awake,  in  the 
pursuit  of  youthful  pleasures.  They  wicked  and  nodded 
at  each  other  in  a  way  which  suggested  all  kinds  of  delir- 
ious delights;  and  Cornelius  even  talked  of  adding  an 
episode  to  the  Epic,  based  on  his  own  later  experiences, 
which  he  would  call,  he  said,  the  Jubilee  of  Joy. 

The  funds  for  this  fling,  all  too  short,  were  provided  by 
their  American  patron.  Gilead  Beck  had  no  objection  to 
advance  them  something  on  account;  the  young  gentle- 
men found  it  so  t)leasant  to  spend  money,  that  they 
quickly  overcame  scruples  about  asking  for  more;  perhaps 
they  would  have  gone  on  getting  more,  but  for  a  word  of 
caution  spoken  by  Jack  Dunquerque.  In  consequence  of 
this  unkindness  they  met  each  other  one  evening  in  the 
Studio  with  melancholy  faces. 

"  I  had  a  letter  to-day  from  Mr.  Gilead  Beck,"  said 
Cornelius  to  Humphrey. 

"  So  had  I,"  said  Humphrey  to  Cornelius. 

"  In  answer  to  a  note  from  me,"  said  Cornelius. 

"  In  reply  to  a  letter  of  mine,"  said  Humphrey. 


462  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

*♦  It  is  sometimes  a  little  awkward,  brother  Humphrey," 
Cornelius  remarked  with  a  little  temper,  "that  our  inclin- 
ations so  often  prompt  us  to  do  the  same  thing  at  the 
same  time." 

Said  Humphrey,  "  I  suppose  then,  Cornehus,  that  you 
asked  him  for  money  ?" 

"  I  did,  Humphrey.  How  much  has  the  Patron  ad- 
vanced you  already  on  the  great  Picture  ?" 

"  Two  hundred  only.  A  mere  trifle.  And  now  he  re- 
fuses to  advance  any  more  until  the  Picture  is  completed. 
Some  enemy,  some  jealous  brother  artist,  must  have  cor- 
rupted his  mind." 

"  My  case,  too.  I  asked  for  a  simple  fifty  pounds.  It 
is  the  end  of  May,  and  the  country  would  be  delightful  if 
one  could  go  there.  I  have  already  drawn  four  or  five 
cheques  of  fifty  each,  on  account  of  the  Epic.  He  says, 
this  mercenary  and  mechanical  patron,  that  he  will  not 
lend  me  any  more  until  the  Poem  is  brought  to  him 
finished.  Some  carping  critic  has  been  talking  to 
him." 

"  How  much  of  the  Poem  is  finished  ?" 

"  How  much  of  the  Picture  is  done  ?" 

The  questions  were  asked  simultaneously,  but  no  answer 
was  returned  by  either. 

Then  each  sat  for  a  few  moments  in  gloomy  silence. 

"  The  end  of  May,"  murmured  Humphrey.  "  We  have 
to  be  ready  by  the  beginning  of  October.  June — July — 
only  four  months.  My  painting  is  designed  for  many 
hundreds  of  figures.  Your  poem  for — how  many  lines, 
brother  ?" 

"  Twenty  cantos  of  about  five  hundred  lines  each." 

"  Twenty  times  five  hundred  is  ten  thousand." 

Then  they  relapsed  mto  silence  again. 

"  Brother  Cornelius,"  the  Artist  went  on,  "  this  has  been 
a  most  eventful  year  for  us.  We  have  been  rudely  dis- 
turbed from  the  artistic  life  of  contemplation  and  patient 
work  into  which  we  had  gradually  dropped.  We  have  been 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  463 

hurried — hurried,    I  say,   brother — into    Action,  perhaps 

prematurely  " 

Cornelius  grasped  his  brother's  hand,  but  said  nothing. 

"You,  Cornelius,  have  engaged  yourself  to  be  mar- 
ried." 

Cornelius  dropped  his  brother's  hand.  "  Pardon  me, 
Humphrey  ;  it  is  you  that  is  engaged  to  Phillis  Fleming." 

"  I  am  nothing  of  the  sort,  Cornelius,"  the  other  re- 
turned sharply.  "  I  am  astonished  that  you  should  make 
such  a  statement." 

"  One  of  us  certainly  is  engaged  to  the  young  lady.  And 
as  certainly  it  is  not  I.  *  Let  your  brother  Humphrey 
hope,'  she  said.  Those  were  her  very  words.  I  do  think, 
brother,  that  it  is  a  little  ungenerous,  a  little  ungenerous  of 
you,  after  all  the  trouble  I  took  on  your  behalf,  to  try  to 
force  this  young  lady  on  me." 

Humphrey's  cheek  turned  pallid.  He  plunged  his  hands 
into  his  silky  beard,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room 
gesticulating. 

"  I  went  down  on  purpose  to  tell  Phillis  about  him.  I 
spoke  to  her  of  his  ardour.  She  said  she  appreciated — 
said  she  appreciated  it,  Cornelius.  I  even  went  so  far  as 
to  say  that  you  offered  her  a  virgin  heart — perilling  my 
own  soul  by  those  very  words — a  virgin  heart " — he 
laughed  melodramatically.  "  And  after  that  German 
milkmaid  !     Ha,  ha  !     The  Poet  and  the  milkmaid  !  " 

Cornelius  by  this  time  was  red  with  anger.  The 
brothers,  alike  in  so  many  things,  differed  in  this,  that, 
when  roused  to  passion,  while  Humphrey  grew  white 
Cornelius  grew  crimson. 

"  And  what  did  I  do  for  you  ? "  he  cried  out.  The 
brothers  were  now  on  opposite  sides  of  the  table,  walking 
backwards  and  forwards  with  agitated  strides.  "  I  told 
her  that  you  brought  her  a  heart  which  had  never  beat  for 
another — that,  after  your  miserable  little  Roman  model ! 
An  artist  not  able  to  resist  the  charms  of  his  own 
model ! " 


464  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"  Cornelius  !  "  cried  Humphrey,  suddenly  stopping  and 
bringing  his  fist  with  a  bang  upon  the  table. 

•'  Humphrey  !  "  cried  his  brother,  exactly  imitating  his 
gesture. 

Their  faces  glared  into  each  other's  ;  Cornelius,  as 
usual,  wrapped  in  his  long  dressing-gown,  his  shaven 
cheeks  purple  with  passion  ;  Humphrey  in  his  loose  velvet 
jacket,  his  white  lips  and  cheeks,  and  his  long  silken  beard 
trembling  to  every  hair. 

It  was  the  first  time  the  brothers  had  ever  quarrelled  in 
all  their  lives.  And  like  a  tempest  on  Lake  Windermere,  it 
sprang  up  without  the  slightest  warning. 

They  glared  in  a  steady  way  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
then  drew  back  and  renewed  their  quick  and  angry  walk 
side  by  side,  with  the  table  between  them. 

"  To  bring  up  the  old  German  business ! "  said 
Cornelius. 

"  To  taunt  me  with  the  Roman  girl  ! "  said  Humphrey. 

"  Will  you  keep  your  engagement  like  a  gentleman,  and 
marry  the  girl  ?  "  cried  the  Poet. 

"  Will  you  behave  as  a  man  of  honour,  and  go  to  the 
Altar  with  Phillis  Fleming  ?  "  asked  the  Artist. 

"  I  will  not,"  said  Cornelius.  "  Nothing  shall  induce  me 
to  get  married." 

"  Nor  will  I,"  said  Humphrey.  "  I  will  see  myself 
drawn  and  quartei;ed  first." 

"  Then,"  said  Cornelius,  "  go  and  break  it  to  her  your- 
self, for  I  will  not." 

"  Break  what  ?  "  asked  Humphrey  passionately.  *•  Break 
her  heart,  when  I  tell  her,  if  I  must,  that  my  brother  repu- 
diates his  most  sacred  promises  ?  " 

Cornelius  was  touched.     He  relented.     He  softened. 

"  Can  it  be  that  she  loves  us  both  ?  " 

They  were  at  the  end  of  the  table,  near  the  chairs, 
which  as  usual  were  side  by  side. 

"  Can  that  be  so,  Cornelius  ?  " 

They  drew   nearer  the   chairs  ;  they   sat   down  ;  they 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  465 

turnca,  by  force  of  habit,  lovingly  towards  each  other ; 
and  iheir  faces  cleared. 

"  Brother  Humphrey,"  said  Cornelius,  "I  see  that  we 
have  mismanaged  this  affair.  It  will  be  a  wrench  to  the 
poor  girl,  but  it  will  have  to  be  done.  I  thought  you 
wanted  to  marry  her." 

"  I  thought  _j'^«^  did." 

"  And  so  we  each  pleaded  the  other's  cause.  And  the 
poor  girl  loves  us  both.  Good  heavens  !  What  a  dread- 
ful thing  for  her." 

"  I  remember  nothing  in  fiction  so  startling.  To  be 
sure,  there  is  some  excuse  for  her." 

"  But  she  can't  marry  us  both  ?" 

"  N — n — no.     I     suppose    not.       No — certainly    not. 
Heaven  forbid  !     And  as  you  will  not  marry  her  " 

Humphrey  shook  his  head  in  a  decided  manner. 

"  And  I  will  not  " 

"  Marry  ?"  interrupted  Humphrey.  "  What  !  And  give 
up  this  ?  Have  to  get  up  early;  to  take  breakfast  at 
nine;  to  be  chained  to  work;  to  be  inspected  and  inter- 
fered with  while  at  work — Phillis  drew  me  once,  and 
pinned  the  portrait  on  my  easel;  to  be  restricted  in  the 
matter  of  port;  to  have  to  go  to  bed  at  eleven;  perhaps, 
Cornelius,  to  have  babies;  and  beside,  if  they  should  be 
Twms  !  Fancy  being  shaken  out  of  your  poetic  dream  by 
the  cries  of  Twins  !" 

"  No  sitting  up  at  night  with  pipes  and  brandy-and- 
water,"  echoed  the  Poet.  "  And,  Humphrey" — here  he 
chuckled,  and  his  face  quite  returned  to  its  brotherly 
form — "  should  we  go  abroad,  no  flirting  with  Roman 
models — eh,  eh,  eh  ?" 

"  Ho,  ho,  ho  !"  laughed  the  Artist  melodiously.  "  And 
no  carrying  milk-pails  up  the  Heidelberg  hills — eh, 
eh,  eh  ?" 

"  Marriage  be  hanged  !"  cried  the  Poet,  starting  up 
again.  "  We  will  preserve  our  independence,  Humphrey. 
We  will  be  free  to  woo,  but  not  to  wed." 


466  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

Was  there  ever  a  more  unprincipled  Bard  ?  It  is  sad 
to  relate  that  the  Artist  echoed  his  brother. 

"We  will,  Cornelius — we  will.  Vive  la  liberie  f*  He 
snapped  his  fingers,  and  began  to  sing  : 


Quand  on  est  a  Paris 
On  ecrlt  a  son  pere, 

Qui  fait  reponse, '  Brigand, 
Tu  n'en  as——' " 


He  broke  short  off,  and  clapped  his  hands  like  a  school- 
boy.    "  We  will  go  to  Paris  next  week,  brother." 

"  We  will,  Humphrey,  if  we  can  get  any  more  money, 
And  now — how  to  get  out  of  the  mess  ?" 

"  Do  you  think  Mrs.  L'Estrange  will  interfere  ?" 

"  Or  Colquhoun  ?" 

"  Or  Joseph  ?" 

"  The  best  way  would  be  to  pretend  it  was  all  a  mis- 
take. Let  us  go  to-morrow,  and  cry  off  as  well  as  we 
can." 

"  We  will,  Cornelius." 

The  quarrel  and  its  settlement  made  them  thirsty,  and 
they  drank  a  whole  potash-and-brandy  each  before  pro- 
ceeding with  the  interrupted  conversation. 

"  Poor  little  Phillis !"  said  the  Artist,  filling  his  pipe. 
"  I  hope  she  won't  pine  much." 

"  Ariadne,  you  know,"  said  the  Poet;  and  then  he  for- 
got what  Ariadne  did,  and  broke  off  short. 

"  It  isn't  our  fault,  after  all.  Men  of  genius  are  always 
run  after.  Women  are  made  to  love  men,  and  men  are 
made  to  break  their  hearts.  Law  of  nature,  dear  Cor- 
nelius— law  of  Nature.  Perhaps  the  man  is  a  fool  who 
binds  himself  to  one.  Art  alone  should  be  our  mistress — 
glorious  Art !" 

"  Yes,"  said  Cornelius;  "you  are  quite  right.  And  what 
about  Mr.  Gilead  Beck  ?" 

This  was  a  delicate  question,  and  the  Artist's  face  grew 
grave. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  467 

"  What  are  we  to  do,  Cornelius  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Humphrey." 

"  Will  the  Poem  be  finished  ?" 

"No.     Will  the  Picture ?" 

"Not  a  chance." 

"  Had  we  not  better,  Humphrey,  considering  all  the 
circumstances,  make  up  our  minds  to  throw  over  the  en- 
gagement?" 

"  Tell  me,  Cornelius — how  much  of  your  Poem  remains 
to  be  done  ?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  there  is  not  much  actually  written." 

"  Will  you  show  it  to  me — what  there  is  of  it  ?" 

"  It  is  all  in  my  head,  Humphrey.     Nothing  is  written." 

He  blushed  prettily  as  he  made  the  confession.  But 
the  Artist  met  him  half-way  with  a  frank  smile. 

"It  is  curious,  Cornelius,  that  up  to  the  present  I  have 
not  actually  drawn  any  of  the  groups.  My  figures  are 
still  in  my  head." 

Both  were  surprised.  Each,  spending  his  own  after- 
noons in  sleep,  had  given  the  other  credit  for  working  dur- 
ing that  part  of  the  day.  But  they  were  too  much  accus- 
tomed to  keep  up  appearances  to  make  any  remark  upon 
this  curious  coincidence. 

"Then,  brother,"  said  the  Poet,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "there 
really  is  not  the  slightest  use  in  leading  Mr.  Beck  to  believe 
that  the  works  will  be  finished  by  October,  and  we  had  bet- 
ter ask  for  a  longer  term.   A  year  longer  would  do  for  me." 

"A  year  longer  would,  I  think,  do  for  me,"  said  Hum- 
phrey, stroking  his  beard,  as  if  he  was  calculating  how  long 
each  figure  would  take  to  put  in.  "  We  will  go  and  see 
Mr.  Beck  to-morrow." 

"  Better  not,"  said  the  sagacious  Poet. 

«  Why  not  ?  " 

"  He  might  ask  for  the  money  back." 

"  True,  brother.  He  must  be  capable  of  that  meanness, 
or  he  would  have  given  us  that  cheque  we  asked  for 
Very  true.     We  will  write." 


468  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  What  excuse  shall  we  make  ?  " 

"  We  will  state  the  exact  truth,  Brother.  No  excuse 
need  be  invented.  We  will  tell  our  Patron  that  Art  can- 
not— must  not — be  forced." 

This  settled,  Cornelius  declared  that  a  weight  was  off 
his  mind,  which  had  oppressed  him  since  the  engagement 
with  Mr.  Beck  was  first  entered  into.  Nothing,  he  said, 
so  much  obstructed  the  avenues  of  fancy,  checked  the  flow 
of  ideas,  and  destroyed  grasp  of  language,  as  a  slavish 
time-engagement.  Now,  he  went  on  to  explain,  he  felt 
free  ;  already  his  mind,  like  a  garden  in  May,  was  blos- 
soming in  a  thousand  sweet  flowers.  Now  he  was  at  peace 
with  mankind.  Before  this  relief  he  had  been — Hum- 
phrey would  bear  him  out — inclined  to  lose  his  temper 
over  trifles  ;  and  the  feeling  of  thraldom  caused  him  only 
that  very  evening  to  use  harsh  words  even  to  his  twin 
brother.  Here  he  held  out  his  hand,  which  Humphrey 
grasped  with  effusion. 

They  wrote  their  letters  next  day — not  early  in  the  day, 
because  they  prolonged  their  evening  parliament  till  late, 
and  it  was  one  o'clock  when  they  took  breakfast  But 
they  wrote  the  letters  after  breakfast,  and  at  two  they  took 
the  train  to  Twickenham. 

Phillis  received  them  in  her  morning-room.  They  ap- 
peared almost  as  nervous  and  agitated  as  when  they  called 
a  week  before.  So  shaky  were  their  hands  that  Phillis  be- 
gan by  prescribing  for  them  a  glass  of  wine  each,  which 
they  took,  and  said  they  felt  better. 

"  We  come  for  a  few  words  of  serious  explanation," 
said  the  Poet. 

"  Yes,"  said  Phillis.     "  Will  Mrs.  L'Estrange  do  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  is  with  you  that  we  would  speak." 

"  Very  well,"  she  replied.     "  Pray  go  on." 

They  were  sitting  side  by  side  on  the  sofa,  looking  as 
grave  as  a  pair  of  owls.  There  was  something  Gog  and 
Magogish,  too,  in  their  proximity. 

Phillis  found  herself  smiling  when  she  looked  at  them. 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  469 

So,  to  prevent  laughing  in  their  very  faces,  she  changed 
her  place,  and  went  to  the  open  window. 

"  Now,"  she  said. 

CorneHus,  with  the  gravest  face  in  the  world,  began 
again. 

♦*  It  is  a  deUcate  and,  I  fear,  a  painful  business,"  he  said. 
"  Miss  Fleming,  you  doubtless  remember  a  conversation  I 
had  with  you  last  week  on  your  lawn  ? " 

"Certainly.  You  told  me  that  your  brother,  Mr. 
Humphrey,  adored  me.  You  also  said  that  he  brought 
me  a  virgin  heart.  I  remember  perfectly.  I  did  not 
understand  your  meaning  then.  But  I  do  now,  I  under- 
stand it  now."  She  spoke  the  last  words  with  softened 
voice,  because  she  was  thinking  of  the  Coping-stone  and 
Jack  Dunquerque. 

Humphrey  looked  indignantly  at  his  brother.  Here 
was  a  position  to  be  placed  in  !  But  Cornelius  lifted  his 
hand,  with  a  gesture  which  meant,  "Patience;  I  will  see 
you  through  this  affair,"  and  went  on — 

"You  see.  Miss  Fleming,  I  was  under  a  mistake.  My 
brother,  who  has  the  hignest  respect,  in  the  abstract,  for 
womanhood,  which  is  the  incarnation  and  embodiment  of 
all  that  is  graceful  and  beautiful  in  this  fair  world  of  ours, 
does  not — does  not — after  all  " 

Phillis  looked  at  Humphrey.  He  sat  by  his  brother, 
trembling  with  a  mixture  of  shame  and  terror.  They  were 
not  brave  men,  these  Twins,  and  they  certainly  drank 
habitually  more  than  is  good  for  the  nervous  system. 

She  began  to  laugh,  not  loudly,  but  with  a  little  ripple 
of  mirth  which  terrified  them  both,  because  in  their  vanity 
they  thought  it  the  first  symptoms  of  hysterical  grief. 
Then  she  stepped  to  the  sofa,  and  placed  both  her  hands 
on  the  unfortunate  Artist's  shoulder. 

He  thought  that  she  was  going  to  shake  him,  and  his 
soul  sank  into  his  boots. 

"  You  mean  that  he  does  not,  after  all,  adore  me.  O 
Mr.  Humphrey,  Mr.  Humphrey  !  was  it  for  this  that  you 


47©  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

offered  me  a  virgin  heart  ?  Is  this  your  gratitude  to  me 
for  drawing  your  likeness  when  you  were  hard  at  work  in 
the  Studio  ?  What  shall  I  say  to  your  brother  Joseph, 
and  what  will  he  say  to  you  ?" 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  Cornelius  interposed  hastily, 
"  there  is  not  the  slightest  reason  to  bring  Joseph  into  the 
business  at  all.  He  must  not  be  told  of  this  unfortunate 
mistake.  Humphrey  does  adore  you — speak,  brother — 
do  you  not  adore  Miss  Fleming  ?" 

Humphrey  was  gasping  and  panting. 

"  I  do,"  he  ejaculated,  "  I  do — Oh,  most  certainly." 

Then  Philhs  left  him  and  turned  to  his  brother. 

"  But  there  is  yourself,  Mr.  Cornelius.  You  are  not  an 
artist;  you  are  a  poet;  you  spend  your  days  in  the  Work- 
shop, where  Jack  Dunquerque  and  I  found  you  rapt  in  so 
poetic  a  dream  that  your  eyes  were  closed  and  your  mouth 
open.  If  you  made  a  mistake  about  Humphrey,  it  is  im- 
possible that  he  could  have  made  a  mistake  about  you." 

"  This  is  terrible,"  said  Cornelius.  "  Explain,  brother 
Humphrey.  Miss  Fleming,  we — no,  you  as  well — are 
victims  of  a  dreadful  error." 

He  wiped  his  brow  and  appealed  to  his  brother. 

Released  from  the  terror  of  Phillis's  hands  upon  his 
shoulder,  the  Artist  recovered  some  of  his  courage  and 
spoke.  But  his  voice  was  faltering.  "  I,  too,"  he  said, 
"  mistook  the  respectful  admiration  of  my  brother  for 
something  dearer.     Miss  Fleming,  he  is  already  wedded." 

"  Wedded  ?  Are  you  a  married  man,  Mr.  Cornelius  ?. 
Oh,  and  where  is  the  virgin  heart  ?" 

"Wedded  to  his  art,"  Humphrey  explained.  Then  he 
went  a  little  off  his  head,  I  suppose,  in  the  excitement  of 
this  crisis,  because  he  continued  in  broken  words,  "  Wed- 
ded— long  ago — object  of  his  life's  love — with  milk-pails 
on  the  hills  of  Heidelberg,  and  light  blue  eyes — the  Muse 
of  Song.  But  he  regards  you  with  respectful  admira- 
tion." 

"  Most  respectful,"  said  Cornelius.     "  As  Petrarch  re- 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  47 1 

garded  the  wife  of  the  Count  de  Sade.     Will  you  forgive 
us,  Miss  Fleming,  and — and — try  to  forget  us  ?" 

"  So,  gentlemen,"  the  young  lady  said,  with  sparkling 
eyes,  "  you  come  to  say  that  you  would  rather  not  marry 
me.     I  wonder  if  that  is  usual  with  men  ?" 

"  No,  no  !"  they  both  cried  together.  «*  Happy  is  the 
man  " 

•*  You  may  be  the  happy  man,  Humphrey,"  said  Cor- 
nelius. 

"  No;  you,  brother — you." 

Never  had  wedlock  seemed  so  dreadful  a  thing  as  it  did 
now,  with  a  possible  bride  standing  before  them,  appar- 
ently only  waiting  for  the  groom  to  make  up  his  mind. 

"I  will  forgive  you  both,"  sh«  said;  **  so  go  away 
happy.  But  I  am  afraid  I  shall  never,  never  be  able  to  for- 
get you.  And  if  I  send  you  a  sketch  of  yourselves  just  as 
you  look  now,  so  ashamed  and  so  foolish,  perhaps  you  will 
hang  it  up  in  the  Workshop  or  the  Studio,  to  be  looked  at 
when  you  are  awake;  that  is,  when  you  are  not  at  work. 

They  looked  guiltily  at  each  other  and  drew  a  little 
apart.  It  was  the  most  cruel  speech  that  Phillis  had  ever 
made;  but  she  was  a  little  angry  with  this  vain  and  con- 
ceited pair  of  windbags. 

"  I  shall  not  tell  Mr.  Joseph  Jagenal,  because  he  is  a 
sensible  man  and  would  take  it  ill,  I  am  sure.  And  I 
shall  not  tell  my  guardian,  Lawrence  Colquhoun,  because 
I  do  not  know  what  he  might  say  or  do.  And  I  shall  not 
tell  Mrs.  L'Estrange;  that  is,  I  shall  not  tell  her  the  whole 
of  it,  for  your  sakes.  But  I  must  tell  Jack  Dunquerque 
because  I  am  engaged  to  be  married  to  Jack,  and  because 
I  love  him  and  must  tell  him  everything." 

They  cowered  before  her  as  they  thought  of  the  possible 
consequences  of  this  information. 

"  You  need  not  be  frightened,"  she  went  on;  "Jack 
will  not  call  to  see  you  and  disturb  you  at  your  work." 

Her  eyes,  that  began  by  dancing  with  fun,  now  flashed 
indignation.    It  was  not  that  she  felt  angry  at  what  most 


472  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

girls  would  have  regarded  as  a  deliberate  insult,  but  the 
unmanliness  of  the  two  filled  her  with  contempt.  They 
looked  so  small  and  so  mean. 

*'  Go,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  door.  "  I  forgive  you. 
But  never  again  dare  to  offer  a  girl  each  other's  virgin 
heart." 

They  literally  slunk  away  like  a  pair  of  beaten  hounds. 
Then  Phillis  suddenly  felt  sorry  for  them  as  they  crept  out 
of  the  door,  one  after  the  other.  She  ran  after  them  and 
called  them  back. 

"  Stop,"  she  cried;  "  we  must  not  part  like  that.  Shake 
hands,  Cornelius.  Shake  hands,  Humphrey.  Come  back 
and  take  another  glass  of  wine.  Indeed  you  want  it;  you 
are  shaking  all  over;  come." 

She  led  them  back,  one  in  each  hand,  and  poured  out  a 
glass  of  sherry  for  each, 

"  You  could  not  have  married  me,  you  know,"  she  said, 
laughing,  *'  because  I  am  going  to  marry  Jack.  There 
— forgive  me  for  speaking  unkindly,  and  we  will  remain 
friends." 

They  took  her  hand,  but  they  did  not  speak,  and  some- 
thing like  a  tear  stood  in  their  eyes.  When  they  left  her 
Phillis  observed  that  they  did  not  take  each  other's  arm 
as  usual,  but  walked  separate.    And  they  looked  older. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

"  What  Is  It  you  see  ? 

A  nameless  thing— a  creeping  snake  in  the  grass." 

WHO  was  the  writer  of  the  letters ?  They  were  all 
in  one  hand,  and  that  a  feigned  hand. 
Gabriel  Cassilis  sat  with  these  anonymous  accusations 
against  his  wife  spread  out  upon  the  table  before  him.  He 
compared  one  with  another;  he  held  them  up  to  the  light; 
he  looked  for  chance  indications  which  a  careless  moment 
might  leave  behind;  there  were  none — not  a  stroke  of  the 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY,  473 

pen;  not  even  the  name  of  the  shop  where  the  paper  was 
sold.  They  were  all  posted  at  the  same  place;  but  that 
was  nothing. 

The  handwriting  was  large,  upright,  and  perhaps  de- 
signedly ill-formed;  it  appeared  to  be  the  writing  of  a 
woman,  but  of  this  Mr.  Cassilis  was  not  sure. 

Always  the  same  tale;  always  reference  to  a  secret  be- 
tween Colquhoun  and  his  wife.     What  was  that  secret  ? 

In  Colquhoun's  room — alone  with  him — almost  under 
his  hand.  But  where  ?  He  went  into  the  bedroom,  which 
was  lighted  by  the  gas  of  the  court;  an  open  room,  fur- 
nished without  curtains;  there  was  certainly  no  one  con- 
cealed, because  concealment  was  impossible.  And  in  the 
sitting-room — then  he  remembered  that  the  room  was 
dimly  lighted;  curtains  kept  out  the  gas-light  of  the  court; 
Colquhoun  had  on  his  entrance  lowered  the  silver  lamp; 
there  was  a  heavy  green  shade  on  this;  it  was  possible 
that  she  might  have  been  in  the  room  while  he  was  there, 
and  listening  to  every  word. 

The  thought  was  maddening.  He  tried  to  put  it  all 
before  himself  in  logical  sequence,  but  could  not;  he  tried 
to  fence  with  the  question,  but  it  would  not  be  evaded; 
he  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  suspicions  resting  on  an 
anonymous  slander  were  baseless,  but  every  time  his  mina 
fell  back  upon  the  voice  which  proclaimed  his  wife's  dis- 
honour. 

A  man  on  the  rack  might  as  well  try  to  dream  of  soft 
beds  and  luxurious  dreamless  sleep;  a  man  being  flogged 
0  at  the  cart-tail  might  as  well  try  to  transport  his  thoughts 
to  boyhood's  games  upon  a  village  green;  a  man  at  the 
stake  might  as  well  try  to  think  of  deep  delicious  draughts 
of  ice-cold  water  from  a  shady  brook.  The  agony  and 
shame  of  the  present  are  too  much  for  any  imagination. 

It  was  so  to  Gabriel  Cassilis.  The  one  thing  which  he 
trusted  in,  after  all  the  villainies  and  rogueries  he  had 
learned  during  sixty-five  years  mostly  spent  amor.g  men 
trying  to  make  money,  was  his  wife's  fidelity.     It  was  like 


474  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

the  Gospel — a  thing  to  be  accepted  and  acted  upon  with 
unquestioning  belief.  Good  heavens  !  if  a  man  cannot 
believe  in  his  wife's  honesty,  in  what  is  he  to  believe  ? 

Gabriel  Cassilis  was  not  a  violent  man;  he  could  not 
find  relief  in  angry  words  and  desperate  deeds  like  a  Moor 
of  Venice;  his  jealousy  was  a  smouldering  fire;  a  flame 
which  burned  with  a  dull  fierce  heat;  a  disease  which 
crept  over  body  and  mind  alike,  crushing  energy,  vitality, 
and  life  out  of  both. 

Everything  might  go  to  ruin  round  him;  he  was  no 
longer  capable  of  thought  and  action.  Telegrams  and 
letters  lay  piled  before  him  on  the  table,  and  he  left  them 
unopened. 

Outside,  his  secretary  was  in  dismay.  His  employer 
would  receive  no  one,  and  would  attend  to  nothing.  He 
signed  mechanically  such  papers  as  were  brought  him  to 
sign,  and  then  he  motioned  the  secretary  to  the  door. 

This  apathy  lasted  for  four  days — the  four  days  most 
important  of  any  in  the  lives  of  himself,  of  Gilead  Beck, 
and  of  Lawrence  Colquhoun.  For  the  fortunes  of  all 
hung  upon  his  shaking  it  off,  and  he  did  not  shake  it  off. 

On  the  second  day,  the  day  when  he  got  the  letter 
telling  him  that  his  wife  had  been  in  Colquhoun's  cham- 
bers while  he  was  there,  he  sent  for  a  private  detective. 

He  put  into  his  hands  all  the  letters. 

"  Written  by  a  woman,"  said  the  officer.  "  Have  you 
any  clue,  sir  ?" 

"  None — none  whatever.  I  want  you  to  watch.  You 
will  watch  my  wife  and  you  will  watch  Mr.  Colquhoun. 
Get  every  movement  watched,  and  report  to  me  every 
morning.  Can  you  do  this  ?  Good.  Then  go,  and  spare 
neither  pains  nor  money." 

The  next  morning's  report  was  unsatisfactory.  Colqu- 
houn had  gone  to  the  Park  in  the  afternoon,  dined  at  his 
club,  and  gone  home  to  his  chambers  at  eleven.  Mrs. 
Cassilis,  after  dining  at  home,  went  out  at  ten,  and  re- 
turned early — at  half-past  eleven. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  475 

But  there  came  a  letter  from  the  anonymous  corres- 
pondent. 

"  You  are  having  a  watch  set  on  them.  Good,  But 
that  won't  find  out  the  Scotch  secret.  She  was  in  his 
room  while  you  were  there — hidden  somewhere,  but  I  do 
not  know  where. 

He  went  home  to  watch  his  wife  with  his  own  eyes.  He 
might  as  well  have  watched  a  marble  statue.  She  met  his 
eyes  with  the  calm  cold  look  to  which  he  was  accustomed. 
There  was  nothing  in  her  manner  to  show  that  she  was 
other  than  she  had  always  been.  He  tried  in  her  presence 
to  realise  the  fact,  if  it  was  a  fact.  "  This  woman,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "  has  been  lying  hidden  in  Colquhoun's 
chambers  listening  while  I  talked  to  him.  She  was  there 
before  I  went;  she  was  there  when  I  came  away.  What 
is  her  secret  ?" 

What,  indeed  !  She  seemed  a  woman  who  could  have 
no  secrets;  a  woman  whose  life  from  her  cradle  might 
have  been  exposed  to  the  whole  world,  who  would  have 
found  nothing  but  cause  of  admiration  and  respect. 

In  her  presence,  under  her  influence,  his  jealousy  lost 
something  of  its  fierceness.  He  feared  her  too  much  to 
suspect  her  while  in  his  sight.  It  was  at  night,  in  his 
office,  away  from  her,  that  he  gave  full  swing  to  the  bitter- 
ness of  his  thoughts.  In  the  hours  when  he  should  have 
been  sleeping  he  paced  his  room,  wrapped  in  his  dressing- 
gown — a  long  lean  figure,  with  eyes  aflame,  and  thoughts 
that  tore  him  asunder;  and  in  the  hours  when  he  should 
have  been  waking  he  sat  with  bent  shoulders,  glowering  at 
the  letters  of  her  accuser,  gazing  into  a  future  which 
seemed  as  black  as  ink. 

His  life,  he  knew,  was  drawing  to  its  close.  Yet  a  few 
more  brief  years,  and  the  summons  would  come  for  him  to 
cross  the  River.  Of  that  he  had  no  fear;  but  it  was 
dreadful  to  think  that  his  age  was  to  be  dishonoured 
Success  was  his;  the  respect  which  men  give  to  success 
was  his;    no  one  inquired  very  curiously  into  the  means  by 


476  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

which  success  was  commanded;  he  was  a  name  and  a 
power.  Now  that  name  was  to  be  tarnished;  by  no  act  of 
his  own,  by  no  fault  of  his;  by  the  treachery  of  the  only 
creature  in  the  world,  except  his  infant  child,  in  whom  he 
trusted. 

He  would  have,  perhaps,  to  face  the  publicity  of  an 
open  court;  to  hear  his  wrongs  set  forth  to  a  jury;  to 
read  his  "  case  "  in  the  daily  papers. 

And  he  would  have  to  alter  his  will. 

Oddly  enough,  of  all  the  evil  things  which  seemed 
about  to  fall  on  him,  not  one  troubled  him  more  than  the 
last. 

His  detective  brought  him  no  news  on  the  next  day. 
But  his  unknown  correspondent  did. 

"  She  is  tired,"  the  letter  said,  "  of  not  seeing  Mr.  Colqu- 
houn  for  three  whole  days.  She  will  see  him  to-morrow. 
There  is  to  be  a  garden-party  at  Mrs.  L'Estrange's 
Twickenham  villa.  Mr.  Colquhoun  will  be  there,  and  she 
is  going,  too,  to  meet  him.  If  you  dared,  if  you  had  the 
heart  of  a  mouse,  you  would  be  there  too.  You  would 
arrive  late;  you  would  watch  and  see  for  yourself,  unseen, 
if  possible,  how  they  meet,  and  what  they  say  to  each 
other.  An  invitation  lies  for  you,  as  well  as  your  wife 
upon  the  table.     Go  !  " 

While  he  was  reading  this  document  his  secretary  came 
in,  uncalled. 

"  The  Eldorado  Stock,"  he  said,  in  his  usual  whisper. 
*'  Have  you  decided  what  to  do  ?  Settling  day  on  Friday. 
Have  you  forgotten  what  you  hold,  sir  ? " 

"  I  have  forgotten  nothing,"  Gabriel  Cassilis  replied. 
"  Eldorado  stock  ?  I  never  forget  anything.  Leave  me. 
I  shall  see  no  one  to-day;  no  one  is  to  be  admitted.  I  am 
very  busy." 

"  I  don't  understand  it,"  the  secretary  said  to  himself 
"  Has  he  got  information  that  he  keeps  to  himself  ?  Has 
he  got  a  deeper  game  on  than  I  ever  gave  him  credit  for  ] 
What  does  it  mean  ?    Is  he  going  off  his  head  ?  " 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  477 

More  letters  and  more  telegrams  came.  They  were 
sent  in  to  the  inner  office;  but  nothing  came  out  of  it. 

That  night  Gabriel  Cassilis  left  his  chair  at  ten  o'clock. 
He  had  eaten  nothing  all  day.  He  was  faint  and  weak; 
he  took  something  at  a  City  railway  station,  and  drove 
home  in  a  cab.     His  wife  was  out. 

In  the  hall  he  saw  her  woman,  the  tall  woman  with  the 
unprepossessing  face. 

'*  You  are  Mrs.  Cassilis's  maid  ? "  he  asked. 

"I  am,  sir." 

"  Come  with  me." 

He  took  her  to  his  own  study,  and  sat  down.  Now  he 
had  the  woman  with  him  he  did  not  know  what  to  ask 
her. 

"  You  called  me,  sir,"  she  said.  "  Do  you  want  to 
know  anything  ? " 

"  How  long  have  you  been  with  your  mistress  ?  " 

"  I  came  to  her  when  her  former  maid,  Janet,  died,  sir. 
Janet  was  with  her  for  many  years  before  she  married." 

"  Janet — Janet — a  Scotch  name." 

"  Janet  was  with  my  mistress  in  Scotland." 

"  Yes — Mrs.  Cassilis  was  in  Scotland — ^yes.  And — and 
— Janet  was  in  your  confidence  ? " 

"  We  had  no  secrets  from  each  other,  sir.  Janet  told 
me  everything. 

"  What  was  there  to  tell  ?" 

"  Nothing,  sir.     What  should  there  be  ?" 

This  was  idle  fencing. 

"You  may  go,"  he  said.  "Stay.  Let  them  send  me 
up  something — a  cup  of  tea,  a  slice  of  meat — anything." 

Then  he  recommenced  his  dreary  walk  up  and  down 
the  room. 

Later  on  a  curious  feeling  came  over  him — quite  a 
strange  and  novel  feeling.  It  was  as  if,  while  he  thought, 
or  rather  while  his  fancies  like  so  many  devils  played  riot 
in  his  brain,  he  could  not  find  the  right  words  in  which  to 
clothe  his  thoughts.     He   struggled  against   the   feeling. 


478  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

He  tried  to  talk.  But  the  wrong  words  came  from  his 
lips.  Then  he  took  a  book;  yes — he  could  read.  It  was 
nonsense;  he  shook  off  the  feeling.  But  he  shrank  from 
speaking  to  any  servant,  and  went  to  bed. 

That  night  he  slept  better,  and  in  the  morning  was  less 
agitated.  He  breakfasted  in  his  study,  and  then  he  went 
down  to  his  office. 

It  was  the  fourth  day  since  he  had  opened  no  letters 
and  attended  to  no  business.  He  remembered  this,  and 
tried  to  shake  off  the  gloomy  fit.  And  then  he  thought 
of  the  coming  coup,  and  tried  to  bring  his  thoughts  back 
to  their  usual  channel.  How  much  did  he  hold  of  Eldo- 
rado Stock  ?  Rising  higher  day  by  day.  But  three  days, 
three  short  days,  before  settling-day. 

The  largest  stake  he  had  ever  ventured;  a  stake  so 
large  that  when  he  thought  of  it  his  spirit  and  nerve  came 
back  to  him. 

For  once — for  the  last  time — he  entered  his  office,  hold- 
ing himself  erect,  and  looking  brighter  than  he  had  done 
for  days;  and  he  sat  down  to  his  letters  with  an  air  of 
resolution. 

Unfortunately,  the  first  letter  was  from  the  anonymous 
correspondent. 

"  She  wrote  to  him  to-day;  she  told  him  that  she  could 
bear  her  life  no  longer;  she  threatened  to  tell  the  secret 
right  out;  she  will  have  an  explanation  with  him  to-mor- 
row at  Mrs.  L'Estrange's.  Do  you  go  down  and  you  will 
hear  the  explanation.     Be  quiet,  and  the  secret." 

He  started  from  his  chair,  the  letter  in  his  hand,  and 
looked  straight  before  him.  Was  it,  then,  all  true  ?  Would 
that  very  day  give  him  a  chance  of  finding  out  the  secret 
between  Lawrence  Colquhoun  and  his  wife  ? 

He  put  up  his  glasses  and  read  the  letter — the  last  of  a 
long  series,  every  one  of  which  had  been  a  fresh  arrow  in 
his  heart — again  and  again. 

Then  he  sat  down  and  burst  into  tears. 

A  young  man's  tears  may  be  forced  from  him  by  many 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  479 

a  passing  sorrow,  but  an  old  man's  only  by  the  reality  of 
a  sorrow  which  cannot  be  put  aside.  The  deaths 
of  those  who  are  dear  to  the  old  man  fall  on  him  as  so 
many  reminders  that  his  own  time  will  soon  arrive;  but  it 
is  not  for  such  things  as  death  that  he  laments. 

"  1  loved  her,"  moaned  Gabriel  Cassilis.  "  I  loved  her, 
and  I  trusted  her;  and  this  the  end  !" 

He  did  not  curse  her,  nor  Colquhoun,  nor  himself  It 
was  all  the  hand  of  Fate.  It  was  hard  upon  him,  harder 
than  he  expected  or  knew,  but  he  bore  it  in  silence. 

He  sat  so,  still  and  quiet,  a  long  while. 

Then  he  put  together  all  the  letters,  which  the  detective 
had  brought  back,  and  placed  them  in  his  pocket.  Then 
he  dallied  and  played  with  the  paper  and  pencils  before 
him,  just  as  one  who  is  restless  and  uncertain  in  his  mind. 
Then  he  looked  at  his  watch — it  was  past  three;  the  gar- 
den party  was  for  four;  and  then  he  rose  suddenly,  put 
on  his  hat,  and  passed  out.  His  secretary  asked  him  as 
he  went  through  his  office,  if  he  would  return,  and  at  what 
time. 

Mr.  Cassilis  made  a  motion  with  his  hand,  as  if  to  put 
the  matter  off  for  a  few  moments,  and  replied  nothing. 
When  he  got  into  the  street  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
could  not  answer  the  secretary  because  that  same  curious 
feeling  was  upon  him  again,  and  he  had  lost  the  power 
of  speech.  It  was  strange,  and  he  laughed.  Then 
the  power  of  speech  as  suddenly  returned  to  him.  He 
called  a  cab  and  told  the  driver  where  to  go.  It  is  a  long 
drive  to  Twickenham.  He  was  absorbed  in  his  thoughts, 
and  as  he  sat  back,  gazing  straight  before  him,  the  sensa- 
tion of  not  being  able  to  speak  kept  coming  and  going  in 
his  brain.  This  made  him  uneasy,  but  not  much,  because 
he  had  graver  things  to  think  about. 

At  half-past  four  he  arrived  within  a  few  yards  of  Mrs. 
L'Estrange's  house,  where  he  alighted  and  dismissed  his 
cab.  The  cabman  touched  his  hat  and  said  it  was  a  fine 
day,  and  seasonable  weather  for  the  time  of  the  year. 


4So 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 


"  Ay,"  replied  Gabriel  Cassilis  mechanically.  "  A  fine 
day,  and  seasonable  weather  for  the  time  of  the  year." 

And  as  he  walked  along  under  the  lime-trees  he  found 
himself  saying  over  again,  as  if  it  was  the  burden  of  a 
song: 

"  A  fine  day,  and  seasonable  weather  for  the  time  of 
the  year." 


CHAPTER  XL. 


•'  How  green  are  you  and  fresh  In  this  old  world  ! " 

ON  the  morning  of  the  garden  party  Joseph  Jagenal 
called  on  Lawrence  Colquhoun. 

**  I  have  two  or  three  things  to  say,  '  he  began,  "  if  you 
can  give  me  five  minutes. "■ 

"Twenty,"  said  Lawrence,     "  Now  then." 

He  threw  himself  back  in  his  easiest  chair  and  prepared 
to  listen. 

"  I  am  in  the  way  of  hearing  things  sometimes, '  Joseph 
said.  "  And  I  heard  a  good  deal  yesterday  about  Mr, 
Gabriel  Cassilis." 

"What  ?"  said  Lawrence,  aghast;  'he  surely  has  not 
been  telling  all  the  world  about  it !  ' 

"  I  think  we  are  talking  of  different  things,"  Joseph 
answered  after  a  pause.  •'  Don't  tell  me  what  you  mean, 
but  what  I  mean  is  that  there  is  an  uneasy  feeling  about 
Gabriel  Cassilis." 

"  Ay  }     In  what  way .''  " 

"Well,  they  say  he  is  strange;  does  not  see  people, 
does  not  open  letters;  and  is  evidently  suffering  from  some 
mental  distress." 

"Yes." 

"  And  when  such  a  man  as  Gabriel  Cassilis  is  in  mental 
distress,  money  is  at  the  bottom  of  it  ' 

"  Generally.     Not  always  '" 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  481 

"It  was  against  my  advice  that  you  invested  any  of 
your  money  by  his  direction." 

**  I  invested  the  whole  of  it;  and  all  Phillis's  too.  Mr. 
Cassilis  has  the  investment  of  our  little  all,"  Lawrence 
added,  laughing. 

But  the  lawyer  looked  grave. 

"Don't  do  it,"  he  said;  "get  it  in  your  own  hands 
again;  let  it  lie  safely  in  the  three  per  cents.  What  has  a 
pigeon  like  you  to  do  among  the  City  hawks  ?  And  Miss 
Fleming's  money,  too.  Let  it  be  put  away  safely,  and 
give  her  what  she  wants,  a  modest  and  sufficient  income 
without  risk." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,  Jagenal.  In  fact,  I  am  sure 
you  are  right.  But  Cassilis  would  have  it.  He  talked  me 
into  an  ambition  for  good  investments  which  I  never  felt 
before.  I  will  ask  him  to  sell  out  for  me,  and  go  back  to 
the  old  three  per  cents,  and  railway  shares — which  is  what 
I  have  been  brought  up  to.  On  the  other  hand,  you  are 
quite  wrong  about  his  mental  distress.  That  is — I  happen 
to  know — you  are  a  lawyer  and  will  not  talk — it  is  not  due 
to  money  matters;  and  Gabriel  Cassilis  is,  for  what  I 
know,  as  keen  a  hand  as  ever  at  piling  up  the  dollars. 
The  money  is  all  safe;  of  that  I  am  quite  certain." 

"  Well,  if  you  think  so — But  don't  let  him  keep  it,"  said 
Joseph  the  Doubter. 

"  After  all,  why  not  get  eight  and  nine  per  cent,  if  you 
can  ? " 

"  Because  it  isn't  safe,  and  because  you  ought  not  to 
expect  it.  What  do  you  want  with  more  money  than  you 
have  got  ?  However,  I  have  told  you  what  men  say.  There 
is  another  thing.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  my  brothers  have 
made  fools  of  themselves,  and  I  am  come  to  apologise  for 
them." 

"  Don't  if  it  is  disagreeable,  my  dear  fellow." 

"  It  is  not  very  disagreeable,  and  I  would  rather.  They 
are  fifty,  but  they  are  not  wise.  In  fact,  they  have  lived 
so  much  out  of  the  world   that   they  do  not  understand 


482  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

things.  And  so  they  went  down  and  proposed  for  the 
hand  of  your  ward,  Phillis  Fleming." 

"  Oh  !     Both  of  them  ?    And  did  she  accept  ?" 

"The  absurd  thing  is  that  I  cannot  discover  which  of  them 
wished  to  be  the  bridegroom,  nor  which  PhilHs  thought 
it  was.  She  is  quite  confused  about  the  whole  matter. 
However,  they  went  away  and  thought  one  of  them  was 
accepted,  which  explains  a  great  deal  of  innuendo  and 
reference  to  some  unknown  subject  of  mirth  which  I  have 
observed  lately.  I  say  one  of  them,  because  I  find  it  im- 
possible to  ascertain  which  of  them  was  the  man.  Well, 
whether  they  were  conscience-stricken  or  whether  they 
repented,  I  do  not  know,  but  they  went  back  to  Twicken- 
ham and  solemnly  repudiated  the  engagement." 

"  And  Phillis  ?" 

"  She  laughed  at  them,  of  course.  Do  not  fear  ;  she 
wasn't  in  the  least  annoyed.  I  shall  speak  to  my  brothers 
this  evening." 

Colquhoun  thought  of  the  small,  fragile-looking  pair, 
and  inwardly  hoped  that  their  brother  would  be  gentle 
with  them. 

"  And  there  is  another  thing,  Colquhoun.  Do  you  want 
to  see  your  ward  married  ?" 

"  To  Jack  Dunquerque  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Not  yet.  I  want  her  to  have  her  little  fling  first. 
Why  the  poor  child  is  only  just  out  of  the  nursery,  and  he 
wants  to  marry  her  off-hand — it's  cruel.  Let  her  see  the 
world  for  a  year,  and  then  we  will  consider  it.  Jagenal,  I 
wish  I  could  marry  the  girl  myself." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Joseph,  with  a  sigh. 

**  I  fell  in  love  with  her,"  said  Lawrence,  "  at  first  sight. 
"  That  is  why,"  he  added,  in  his  laziest  tones,  "  I  suppose 
that  is  why  I  told  Jack  Dunquerque  not  to  go  there  any 
more.  But  he  has  gone  there  again,  and  he  has  proposed 
to  her,  I  hear,  and  she  has  accepted  him.  So  that  I  can't 
marry  her,  and  you  can't,  and  we  are  a  brace  of  fogies." 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  483 

"  And  what  have  you  said  to  Mr.  Dunquerque  ?" 

"  I  acted  the  jealous  guardian,  and  I  ordered  him  hot 
to  call  on  my  ward  any  more  for  the  present.  I  shall  see 
how  Phillis  takes  it,  and  give  in,  of  course,  if  she  makes  a 
fuss.  Then  Beck  has  been  here  offering  to  hand  over  all 
his  money  to  Jack,  because  he  loves  the  young  man." 

"  Quixotic,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  Yes.  The  end  of  it  will  be  a  wedding,  of  course. 
You  and  I  may  shake  a  leg  at  it  if  we  like.  As  for  me,  I 
never  can  marry  any  one;  and  as  for  you  " 

"  As  for  me,  I  never  thought  of  marrying  her.  I  only 
remarked  that  I  had  fallen  in  love,  as  you  say,  with  her. 
That's  no  matter  to  anybody." 

"  Well,  things  go  on  as  they  like,  not  as  we  like.  What 
nonsense  it  is  to  say  that  man  is  master  of  his  fate  !  Now, 
what  I  should  like  would  be  to  get  rid  of  the  reason  that 
prevents  my  marrying;  to  put  Jack  Dunquerque  into  the 
water-butt  and  sit  on  the  lid;  and  then  for  Phillis  to  fall 
in  love  with  me.  After  that,  strawberries  and  cream  with 
a  little  champagne  for  the  rest  of  my  Methuselam-like 
career.  And  I  can't  get  any  of  these  things.  Master  of 
his  fate  ?" 

"  Have  you  heard  of  the  Coping-stone  chapter  ?  It  is 
found." 

"  Agatha  told  me  something,  in  a  disjointed  way.  What 
is  the  effect  of  it  ?" 

Joseph  laughed. 

"  It  is  all  torn  up  but  the  last  page.  A  righteous  retri- 
bution, because  if  Phillis  had  been  taught  to  read  this 
would  not  have  happened.  Now,  I  suspect  the  will  must 
be  set  aside,  and  the  money  will  mostly  go  to  Gabriel 
Cassilis,  the  nearest  of  kin,  who  doesn't  want  it." 


484  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

"  La  langue  des  femmes  est  leur  epee, 
et  elles  ne  la  lalssent  pas  rouiller," 

THE  grounds  of  the  house  formed  a  parallelogram,  of 
which  the  longer  sides  were  parallel  with  the  river. 
In  the  north-east  corner  stood  the  house  itself,  its  front 
facing  west.  It  was  not  a  large  house,  as  has  been  ex- 
plained. A  conservatory  was  built  against  nearly  the 
whole  length  of  the  front.  The  lawns  and  flower-beds 
spread  to  west  and  south,  sloping  down  to  the  river's  edge. 
The  opposite  angle  was  occupied  by  stables,  kitchen-gar- 
den, and  boat-house.  Gabriel  Cassilis  approached  it  from 
the  east.  An  iron  railing  and  a  low  hedge,  along  which 
were  planted  limes,  laburnums,  and  lilacs,  separated  the 
place  from  the  road.  But  before  reaching  the  gate — in 
fact,  at  the  corner  of  the  kitchen-garden — he  could,  him- 
self, unseen,  look  through  the  trees  and  observe  the 
party.  They  were  all  there.  He  saw  Mrs.  L'Estrange, 
PhiUis,  his  own  wife — Heavens  !  how  calm  and  cold  she 
looked,  and  how  beautiful  he  thought  her  ! — with  half  a 
dozen  other  ladies.  The  men  were  few.  There  was  the 
curate.  He  was  dangling  round  Phillis,  and  wore  an  ex- 
pression of  holiness-out-for-a-holiday,  which  is  always  so 
charming  in  these  young  men.  Gabriel  Cassilis  also  no- 
ticed that  he  was  casting  eyes  of  longing  at  the  young 
lady.  There  was  Lav/rence  Colquhoun.  Gabriel  Cassilis 
looked  everywhere  for  him,  till  he  saw  him,  lying  beneath 
a  tree,  his  head  on  his  hand.  He  was  not  talking  to 
Victoria,  nor  was  he  looking  at  her.  On  the  contrary,  he 
was  watching  Phillis.  There  was  Captain  Ladds.  He 
was  talking  to  one  of  the  young  ladies,  and  he  was  looking 
at  Phillis.  The  young  lady  evidently  did  not  like  this. 
And  there  was   Gilead  Beck.     He  was  standing  apart, 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  485 

talking  to  Mrs.  L'Estrange,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
leaning  against  a  tree.  But  he,  too,  was  casting  furtive 
glances  at  Phillis. 

They  all  seemed,  somehow,  looking  at  the  girl. 
There  was  no  special  reason  why  they  should  look 
at  her,  except  that  she  was  so  bright,  so  fresh,  and  so 
charming  for  the  eye  to  rest  upon.  The  other  girls  were 
as  well  dressed,  but  they  were  nowhere  compared  with 
Phillis.  The  lines  of  their  figures,  perhaps,  were  not  so 
fine;  the  shape  of  their  heads  more  commonplace;  their 
features  not  so  delicate;  their  pose  less  graceful.  There 
are  some  girls  who  go  well  together.  Helena  and  Hermia 
are  a  foil  to  each  other;  but  when  Desdemona  shows  all 
other  beauties  pale  like  lesser  lights.  And  the  other 
beauties  do  not  like  it 

Said  one  of  the  fair  guests  to  another — 

"  What  do  they  see  in  her  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  replied  her  friend.  "  She  seems  to  me 
more  farouche  than  ever." 

For,  having  decided  that  farouche  was  the  word  to  ex- 
press poor  Phillis's  distinguishing  quality,  there  was  no 
longer  any  room  for  question,  and  farouche  she  continued 
to  be.  If  there  is  anything  that  Phillis  never  was,  it  is 
that  quality  of  fierce  shy  wildness  which  requires  the  ad- 
jective farouche.  But  the  word  stuck,  because  it  sounded 
well.  To  this  day — to  be  sure,  it  is  only  a  twelvemonth 
since — the  girls  say  still,  "  Oh,  yes  !  Phillis  Fleming.  She 
was  pretty,  but  extremely  farouche'* 

Gabriel  Cassilis  stood  by  the  hedge  and  looked  through 
the  trees.  He  has  come  all  the  way  from  town  to  attend 
this  party,  and  now  he  hesitated  at  the  very  gates.  For 
he  became  conscious  of  two  things:  first,  that  the  old  feel- 
ing of  not  finding  his  words  was  upon  him  again;  and 
secondly,  that  he  was  not  exactly  dressed  for  a  festive  oc- 
casion. Like  most  City  men  who  have  long  remained 
bachelors,  Gabriel  Cassilis  was  careful  of  his  personal  ap- 


486  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

pearance..  He  considered  a  garden-party  as  an  occasion 
demanding  something  special.  Now  he  not  only  wore  his 
habitual  pepper-and-salt  suit,  but  the  coat  in  which  he  wrote 
at  his  office — a  comfortable  easy  old  frock,  a  little  baggy  at 
the  elbows.  His  mind  was  strung  to  such  an  intense 
pitch,  that  such  a  trifling  objection  as  his  dress — because 
Gabriel  Cassilis  never  looked  other  than  a  gentleman — 
appeared  to  him  insuperable.  He  withdrew  from  the 
hedge,  and  retraced  his  steps.  Presently  he  came  to  a 
lane.  He  left  the  road,  and  turned  down  the  path.  He 
found  himself  by  the  river.  He  sat  down  under  a  tree, 
and  began  to  think. 

He  thought  of  the  time  when  his  lonely  life  was  weari- 
some to  him,  when  he  longed  for  a  wife  and  a  house  of 
his  own.  He  remembered  how  he  pictured  a  girl  who 
would  be  his  darling,  who  would  return  his  caresses  and 
love  him  for  his  own  sake.  And  how,  when  he  met  Vic- 
toria Pengelley,  his  thoughts  changed,  and  he  pictured 
that  girl,  stately  and  statuesque,  at  the  head  of  the  table. 
There  would  be  no  pettings  and  caressings  from  her,  that 
was  quite  certain.  On  the  other  hand,  there  would  be  a 
woman  of  whom  he  would  be  proud — one  who  would 
wear  his  wealth  properly.  And  a  woman  of  good  family, 
well  connected  all  round.  There  were  no  caresses,  he 
remembered  now;  there  was  the  coldest  acceptance  of 
him;  and  there  had  been  no  caresses  since.  But  he  had 
been  proud  of  her;  and  as  for  her  honour — how  was  it 
possible  that  the  doubt  should  arise  ?  That  man  must  be 
himself  distinctly  of  the  lower  order  of  men  who  would 
begin  by  doubting  or  suspecting  his  wife. 

To  end  in  this  :  doubt  so  strong  as  to  be  almost  cer- 
tainty :  suspicion  like  a  knife  cutting  at  his  heart;  his 
brain  clouded;  and  he  himself  driven  to  creep  down  clan- 
destinely to  watch  his  wife. 

He  sat  there  till  the  June  sun  began  to  sink  in  the  west. 
The  river  was  covered  with  the  evening  craft.  They  were 
manned  by  the  young   City  men  but  just  beginning  the 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  487 

worship  of  Mammon,  who  would  have  looked  with  envy 
upon  the  figure  sitting  motionless  in  the  shade  by  the 
river's  edge  had  they  known  who  he  was.  Presently  he 
roused  himself,  and  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  past 
seven.  Perhaps  the  party  would  be  over  by  this  time;  he 
could  go  home  with  his  wife;  it  would  be  something,  at 
least,  to  be  with  her,  to  keep  her  from  that  other  man. 
He  rose, — his  brain  in  a  tumult — and  repaired  once  more 
to  his  point  of  vantage  at  the  hedge.  The  lawn  was  empty; 
there  was  no  one  there.  But  he  saw  his  own  carriage  in 
the  yard,  and  therefore  his  wife  was  not  yet  gone. 

In  the  garden,  no  one.  He  crept  in  softly,  and  looked 
round  him.  No  one  saw  him  enter  the  place;  and  he 
felt  something  like  a  burglar  as  he  walked,  with  a  stealthy 
step  which  he  vainly  tried  to  make  confident,  across  the 
lawn. 

Two  ways  of  entrance  stood  open  before  him.  One  was 
the  porch  of  the  house,  covered  with  creepers  and  hung 
with  flowers.  The  door  stood  open,  and  beyond  it  was 
the  hall,  looking  dark  from  the  bright  light  outside.  He 
heard  voices  within.  Another  way  was  by  the  conserva- 
tory, the  door  of  which  was  also  open.  He  looked  in. 
Among  the  flowers  and  vines  there  stood  a  figure  he  knew 
. — his  wife's.  But  she  was  alone.  And  she  was  listeninn^. 
On  her  face  was  an  expression  which  he  had  never  seen 
there,  and  never  dreamed  of.  Her  features  were  diston- 
ed;  her  hands  were  closed  in  a  tight  clutch;  her  arms  were 
stiff'ened — but  she  was  trembling.  What  was  she  doing . 
To  whom  was  she  listening  ? 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  he  stepped  through 
the  porch  into  the  hall.  The  voices  came  from  the  right, 
in  fact,  from  the  morning  room, — Phillis's  room, — whicn 
opened  by  its  single  window  upon  the  lawn,  and  by  its 
two  doors  into  the  hall  on  one  side  and  the  conservatory 
on  the  other. 

And  Gabriel  Cassilis,  like  his  wife,  listened.  He  put  off 
his  hat,  placed   his  umbrella  in  the   stand,  and   stood  in 


488  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

attitude,  in  case  he  should  be  observed,  to  push  open  the 
door  and  step  in.  He  was  so  abject  in  his  jealousy  that 
he  actually  did  not  feel  the  disgrace  and  degradation  of 
the  act.  He  was  so  keen  and  eager  to  lose  no  word,  that 
he  leaned  his  head  to  the  half-open  door,  and  stood,  his 
long  thin  figure  trembling  with  excitement,  like  some  lis- 
tener in  a  melodrama  of  the  transpontine  stage. 

There  were  two  persons  in  the  room,  and  one  was  a 
woman;  and  they  were  talking  together.  One  was  Law- 
rence Colquhoun  and  the  other  was  Phillis  Fleming. 

Colquhoun  was  not,  according  to  his  wont,  lying  on  a 
sofa,  nor  sitting  in  the  easiest  of  the  chairs.  He  was 
standing,  and  he  was  speaking  in  an  earnest  voice. 

"  When  I  saw  you  first,"  he  said,  "  you  were  little  Phillis 
— a  wee  toddler  of  six  or  seven.  I  went  away  and  forgot 
all  about  you — almost  forgot  your  very  existence,  Phillis, — 
till  the  news  of  Mr.  Dyson's  death  met  me  on  my  way 
home  again.  I  fear  that  I  have  neglected  you  since  I 
came  home;  but  I  have  been  worried." 

"  What  has  worried  you,  Lawrence  ?  "  asked  the  girl. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  music-stool  before  the  piano;  and 
as  she  spoke  she  turned  from  the  piano,  her  fingers  resting 
silently  on  the  notes.  She  was  dressed  for  the  party, — 
which  was  over  now,  and  the  guests  departed, — in  a 
simple  muslin  costume,  light  and  airy,  which  became  her 
well.  And  in  her  hair  she  had  placed  a  flower.  There 
were  flowers  all  about  the  room,  flowers  at  the  open 
window,  flowers  in  the  conservatory  beyond,  flowers  on 
the  bright  green  lawns  beyond. 

"  How  pretty  you  are,  Phillis  !  "  answered  her  guardian. 

He  touched  her  cheek  with  his  finger  as  she  sat. 

"  I  am  your  guardian,"  he  said,  as  if  in  apology. 

"  And  you  have  been  worried  about  things  ?  "  she  per- 
sisted.    "  Agatha  says  you  never  care  what  happens." 

"  Agatha  is  right,  as  a  rule.  In  one  case,  of  which  she 
knows  nothing,  she  is  wrong.  Tell  me,  Phillis,  is  there 
anything  you  want  in  the  world  that  I  can  get  for  you  ? ' 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  489 

"  I  think  I  have  everything,"  she  said,  laughing.  "  And 
what  you  will  not  give  me  I  shall  wait  for  till  I  am  twenty- 
one." 

"  You  mean  " 

"  I  mean — Jack  Dunquerque,  Lawrence." 
Only  a  short  month  ago,  and  Jack  Dunquerque  was  her 
friend.  She  could  speak  of  him  openly  and  friendly,  with- 
out change  of  voice  or  face.  Now  she  blushed,  and  her 
voice  trembled  as  she  uttered  his  name.  That  is  one  of 
the  outward  and  visible  signs  of  an  inward  and  spiritual 
state  known  to  the  most  elementary  observers. 

"  I  wanted  to  speak  about  him.  Phillis,  you  are  very 
young,  you  have  seen  nothing  of  the  world;  you  know 
no  other  men.  All  I  ask  you  is  to  wait.  Do  not  give 
your  promise  to  this  man  till  you  have  at  least  had  an  op- 
portunity of — of  comparing — of  learning  your  own  mind." 
She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  have  already  given  my  promise,"  she  said. 
"  But  it  is  a  promise  that  may  be  recalled,"  he  urged. 
"  Dunquerque  is  a  gentleman;  he  will  not  hold  you  to 
your  word  when  he  feels  that  he  ought  not  to  have  taken 
it  from  you.  Phillis,  you  do  not  know  yourself.  You 
have  no  idea  of  what  it  is  that  you  have  given,  or  its 
value.     How  can  I  tell  you  the  truth  ? " 

"  I  think  you  mean  the  best  for  me,  Lawrence,"  she 
said.     *  But  the  best  is — Jack." 

Then  she  began  to  speak  quite  low,  so  that  the  listeners 
heard  nothing. 

"  See,  Lawrence,  you  are  kind,  and  I  can  tell  you  all 
without  being  ashamed.  I  think  of  Jack  all  day  long  and 
all  night.  I  pray  for  him  in  the  morning  and  in  the  even- 
ing. When  he  comes  near  me  I  tremble;  I  feel  that  I 
must  obey  him  if  he  were  to  order  me  in  anything.  I 
have    no    more   command    of   myself   when   he   is   with 

me  " 

"  Stop,  Phillis,"  Lawrence  interposed;  "you  must  not 
tell  me  any  more.  I  was  trying  to  act  for  the  best;  but  I  will 


490  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

make  no  further  opposition.  See,  my  dear  " — he  took  her 
hand  in  his  in  a  tender  and  kindly  way — "  if  I  write  to 
Jack  Dunquerque  to-day,  and  tell  the  villain  he  may  come 
and  see  you  whenever  he  likes,  and  that  he  shall  marry 
you  whenever  you  like,  will  that  do  for  you  ?  " 

She  started  to  her  feet,  and  threw  her  left  hand — Law- 
rence still  holding  the  right — upon  his  shoulder,  looking 
him  full  in  the  face. 

"  Will  it  do  ?  O  Lawrence  !  Agatha  always  said  you 
were  the  kindest  man  in  the  world;  and  I — forgive  me  !  — 
I  did  not  believe  it,  I  could  not  understand  it.  O  Jack, 
Jack,  we  shall  be  so  happy,  so  happy  !  He  loves  me, 
Lawrence,  as  much  as  I  love  him." 

The  listeners  in  the  greenhouse  and  the  hall  craned 
their  necks,  but  they  could  hear  little,  because  the  girl 
spoke  low. 

"  Does  he  love  you  as  much  as  you  love  him,  Phillis  ? 
Does  he  love  you  a  thousand  times  better  than  you  can 
understand  ?  Why,  child,  you  do  not  know  what  love 
means.  Perhaps  women  never  do  quite  realise  what  it 
means.  Only  go  on  believing  that  he  loves  you,  and  love 
him  in  return,  and  all  will  be  well  with  you." 

"  I  do  believe  it,  Lawrence!  and  I  love  him,  too' " 

Looking  through  the  flowers  and  the  leaves  of  the  con- 
servatory glared  a  face  upon  the  pair  strangely  out  of  har- 
mony with  the  peace  which  breathed  in  the  atmosphere 
of  the  place — a  face  violently  distorted  by  passion,  a  face 
in  which  every  evil  feeling  was  at  work,  a  face  dark  with 
rage.  Phillis  might  have  seen  the  face  had  she  looked  in 
that  direction,  but  she  did  not;  she  held  Lawrence's  hand, 
ind  she  was  shyly  pressing  it  in  gratitude. 

"  Phillis,"  said  Lawrence  hoarsely,  "  Jack  Dunquerque 
is  a  lucky  man.  We  all  love  you,  my  dear;  and  I  almost 
as  much  as  Jack.     But  I  am  too  old  for  you;  and  besides, 

besides " He   cleared   his   throat,  and    spoke  more 

distinctly.  "  I  do  love  you,  however,  Phillis;  a  man  could 
not  be  long  beside  you  without  loving  you. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  49I 

There  was  a  movement  and  a  rustle  in  the  leaves. 

The  man  at  the  door  stood  bewildered.  What  was  it 
all  about?  Colquhoun  and  a  woman — not  his  wife — talk- 
ing of  love.  What  love  ?  what  woman  ?  And  his  wife  in 
the  conservatory,  looking  as  he  never  saw  her  look  before, 
and  listening.  What  did  it  all  mean  ?  what  thing  was 
coming  over  him  ?  He  pressed  his  hand  to  his  forehead, 
trying  to  make  out  what  it  all  meant,  for  he  seemed  to  be 
in  a  dream;  and,  as  before,  while  he  tried  to  shape  the 
words  in  his  mind  for  some  sort  of  an  excuse,  or  a  reas- 
surance to  himself,  he  found  that  no  words  came,  or,  if 
any,  then  the  wrong  words. 

The  house  was  very  quiet;  no  sounds  came  from  any 
part  of  it, — the  servants  were  resting  in  the  kitchen,  the 
mistress  of  the  house  was  resting  in  her  room,  after  the 
party, — no  voices  but  the  gentle  talk  of  the  girl  and  her 
guardian. 

"  Kiss  me,  Phillis,"  said  Lawrence.  "  Then  let  me  hold 
you  in  my  arms  for  once,  because  you  are  so  sweet,  and 
— and  I  am  your  guardian,  you  know,  and  we  all  love 
you." 

He  drew  her  gently  by  the  hands.  She  made  no  resist- 
ance; it  seemed  to  her  right  that  her  guardian  should  kiss 
her  if  he  wished.  She  did  not  know  how  the  touch  of  her 
hand,  the  light  in  her  eyes,  the  sound  of  her  voice,  were 
stirring  in  the  man  before  her  depths  that  he  thought  long 
ago  buried  and  put  away,  awakening  once  more  the  possi- 
bilities, at  forty,  of  a  youthful  love. 

His  lips  were  touching  her  forehead,  her  face  was  close 
to  his,  he  held  her  two  hands  tight,  when  the  crash  of  a 
falling  flower-pot  startled  him,  and  Victoria  Cassilis  stood 
before  him. 

Panting,  gasping  for  breath,  with  hands  clenched  and 
eyes  distended — a  living  statue  of  iht  femina  demetis.  For 
a  moment  she  paused  to  take  breath,  and  then,  with  a 
wave  of  her  hand  which  was  grand  because  it  was  natural 
and  worthy  of  Rachel — because  you   may  see  it   any  day 


492  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

among  the  untutored  beauties  of  Whitechapel,  among  the 
gipsy  camps,  or'in  the  villages  where  Hindoo  women  live 
and  quarrel — Victoria  Cassilis  for  once  in  her  life  was  her- 
self, and  acted  superbly,  because  she  did  not  act  at  all. 

"Victoria  !"     The  word  came  from  Lawrence. 

Phillis,  with  a  little  cry  of  terror,  clung  tightly  to  her 
guardian's  arm. 

"  Leave  him  !  "  cried  the  angry  woman.  "  Do  you 
hear? — leave  him  !" 

"  Better  go,  Phillis,"  said  Lawrence. 

At  the  prospect  of  battle  the  real  nature  of  the  man 
asserted  itself.  He  drew  himself  erect,  and  met  her  wild 
eyes  with  a  steady  gaze,  which  had  neither  terror  nor  sur- 
prise in  it — a  gaze  such  as  a  mad  doctor  might  practise 
upon  his  patients,  a  look  which  calms  the  wildest  out- 
breaks, because  it  sees  in  them  nothing  but  what  it  ex- 
pected to  find,  and  is  only  sorry. 

"  No  !  she  shall  not  go,"  said  Victoria,  sweeping  her 
skirts  behind  her  with  a  splendid  movement  from  her 
feet ;  "  she  shall  not  go  until  she  has  heard  me  first.  You 
dare  to  make  love  to  this  girl,  this  schoolgirl,  before  my 
very  eyes.     She  shall  know,  she  shall  know  our  secret !" 

"  Victoria,"  said  Lawrence  calmly,  "  you  do  not  under- 
stand what  you  are  saying.  Our  secret  ?  Say  your  secret, 
and  be  careful." 

The  door  moved  an  inch  or  two  ;  the  man  standing  be- 
hind it  was  shaking  in  every  limb.  "  Their  secret  ?  her 
secret  ?"     He  was  going  to  learn  at  last  ;  he  was  going  to 

find  the  truth  ;  he  was  going And  here  a  sudden 

thought  struck  him  that  he  had  neglected  his  affairs  of 
late,  and  that,  this  business  once  got  through,  he  must 
look  into  things  again  ;  a  thought  without  words,  because, 
somehow,  just  then  he  had  no  words — he  had  forgotten 
them  all. 

The  writer  of  the  anonymous  letters  had  done  much 
mischief,  as  she  hoped  to  do.  People  who  write  anony- 
mous letters  generally  contrive  so  much.     Unhappily,  the 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  493 

beginning  of  mischief  is  like  the  boring  of  a  hole  in  a 
dam  or  dyke,  because  very  soon,  instead  of  a  trickling 
rivulet  of  water,  you  get  a  gigantic  inundation.  Nothing 
is  easier  than  to  have  your  revenge  ;  only  it  is  so  very 
difficult  to  calculate  the  after  consequences  of  revenge. 
If  the  writer  of  the  letters  had  known  what  was  going  to 
happen  in  consequence,  most  likely  they  would  never  have 
been  written. 

"  Their  secret  ?  her  secret  ?"  He  listened  with  all  his 
might.  But  Victoria,  his  wife  Victoria,  spoke  out  clearly ; 
he  could  hear  without  straining  his  ears. 

**  Be  careful,"  repeated  Lawrence. 

"  I  shall  not  be  careful ;  the  time  is  past  for  care.  You 
have  sneered  and  scoffed  at  me  ;  you  have  insulted  me  ; 
you  have  refused  almost  to  know  me, — all  that  I  have 
borne,  but  this  I  will  not  bear." 

"  Phillis  Fleming."  She  turned  to  the  girl.  Phillis  did 
not  shrink  or  cower  before  her;  on  the  contrary,  she  stood 
like  Lawrence,  calm  and  quiet,  to  face  the  storm,  what- 
ever storm  might  be  brewing.  "  This  man  takes  you  in 
his  arms  and  kisses  you.  He  says  he  loves  you  ;  he  dares 
to  tell  you  he  loves  you.  No  doubt  you  are  flattered. 
You  have  had  the  men  round  you  all  day  long,  and  now 
you  have  the  best  of  them  at  your  feet,  alone,  when  they 
are  gone.  Well,  the  man  you  want  to  catch,  the  excellent 
parti  you  and  Agatha  would  like  to  trap,  the  man  who 
stands  there  " 

"Victoria,  there  is  still  time  to  stop,"  said  Lawrence 
calmly. 

**  That  man  is  my  husband  !" 

Phillis  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  understanding 
nothing.  The  man  stood  quietly  stroking  his  great  beard 
with  his  fingers,  and  looking  straight  at  Mrs.  Cassilis. 

"  My  husband.  We  were  married  six  years  ago  and 
more.  We  were  married  in  Scotland,  privately  ;  but  he  is 
my  husband,  and  five  days  after  our  wedding  he  left  me. 
Is  that  true  ?" 


494  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"Perfectly.  You  have  forgotten  nothing,  except  the 
reason  of  my  departure.  If  you  think  it  worth  while 
troubling  Phillis  with  that,  why  " 

"  We  quarre  lied  ;  that  was  the  reason.  He  used 
cruel  and  bitter  language.  He  gave  me  back  my 
liberty." 

"  We  separated,  Phillis,  after  a  row,  the  like  of  which 
you  may  conceive  by  remembering  that  Mrs.  Cassilis  was 
then  six  years  younger,  and  even  more  ready  for  such 
encounters  than  at  present.  We  separated  ;  we  agreed 
that  things  should  go  on  as  if  the  marriage,  which  was  no 
marriage,  had  never  taken  place.  Janet,  the  maid,  was  to 
be  trusted.  She  stayed  with  her  mistress  ;  I  went  abroad. 
And  then  I  heard  by  accident  that  my  wife  had  taken  the 
liberty  I  gave  her,  in  its  fullest  sense,  by  marrying  again. 
Then  I  came  home,  because  I  thought  that  chapter  was 
closed  ;  but  it  was  not,  you  see  ;  and  for  her  sake  I  wish  I 
had  stayed  in  America." 

Mrs.  Cassilis  listened  as  if  she  did  not  hear  a  word;  then 
she  went  on — 

"  He  is  my  husband  still.  I  can  claim  him  when  I  want 
him;  and  I  claim  him  now,  I  say,  Lawrence,  so  long  as 
I  live  you  shall  marry  no  other  woman.  You  are  mine; 
whatever  happens,  you  are  mine." 

The  sight  of  the  man,  callous,  immovable,  suddenly 
seemed  to  terrify  her.    She  sank  weeping  at  his  knees. 

"  Lawrence,  forgive  me,  forgive  me  !  Take  me  away. 
I  never  loved  any  one  but  you.     Forgive  me  !  " 

He  made  no  answer  or  any  sign. 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,  somewhere,  out  of  this  place;  let 
us  go  away  together,  we  two.  I  have  never  loved  any  one 
but  you — never  any  one  but  you,  but  you  !  " 

She  broke  into  a  passion  of  sobs.  When  she  looked  up, 
it  was  to  meet  the  white  face  of  Gabriel  Cassilis.  He  was 
stooping  over  her,  his  hands  spread  out  helplessly,  his 
form  quivering,  his  lips  trying  to  utter  something;  but  no 
sound  came  through  them.    Beyond  stood  Lawrence,  still 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  495 

with  the  look  of  watchful  determination  which  had  broken 
down  her  rage.     Then  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"You  here?  Then  you  know  all.  It  is  true;  that  is 
my  legal  husband.  For  two  years  and  more  my  life  has 
been  a  lie.     Stand  back,  and  let  me  go  to  my  husband  !  " 

But  he  stood  between  (.olquhoun  and  herseli. 
Lawrence  saw  with  a  sudden  terror  that  something  had 
happened  to  the  man.  He  expected  an  outburst  of  wrath, 
but  no  wrath  came.  Gabriel  Cassilis  turned  his  head  from 
one  to  the  other,  and  presently  said,  in  a  trembling  voice — 

"  A  fine  day,  and  seasonable  weather  for  the  time  of 
year." 

"  Good  God  !  "  cried  Lawrence,  "  you  have  destroyed 
his  reason  !  " 

Gabriel  Cassilis  shook  his  head,  and  began  again — 

"  A  fine  day,  and  seasonable  " 

Here  he  threw  himself  upon  the  nearest  chair,  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 


A 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

"  Then  a  babbled  of  green  fields." 

ND  then  there  was  silence.  Which  of  them  was  to 
speak  !  Not  the  woman  who  had  wrought  this  mis- 
chief; not  the  man  who  knew  of  the  wickedness  but  had 
not  spoken;  not  the  innocent  girl  who  only  perceived  that 
something  dreadful — something  beyond  the  ordinary  run 
of  dreadful  events — had  happened,  and  that  Victoria 
Cassilis  looked  out  of  her  senses.  Lawrence  Colquhoun 
stood  unmoved  by  her  tears;  his  face  was  hardened;  it 
bore  a  look  beneath  which  the  guilty  woman  cowered. 
Yet  she  looked  at  him  and  not  at  her  husband. 

Presently  Colquhoun  spoke.  His  voice  was  harsh,  and 
his  words  were  a  command. 

"  Go  home  !  "  he  said  to  Victoria.  "  There  is  no  more 
mischief  for  you  to  do — go  '  " 


496  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

She  obeyed  without  a  word.  She  threw  the  light  wrap- 
per which  she  carried  on  her  arm  round  her  slender  neck, 
and  walked  away,  restored,  to  outward  seeming,  to  all  her 
calm  and  stately  coldness.  The  coachman  and  the  foot- 
man noticed  nothing.  If  any  of  her  acquaintances  passed 
her  on  the  road,  they  saw  no  change  in  her.  The  woman 
was  impassive  and  impenetrable. 

Did  she  love  Colquhoun  ?  No  one  knows.  She  loved 
to  feel  that  she  had  him  in  her  power;  she  was  driven  to  a 
mad  jealousy  when  that  power  slipped  quite  away;  and 
although  she  had  broken  the  vows  which  both  once  swore 
to  keep,  she  could  not  bear  even  to  think  that  he  should 
do  the  same.  And  she  did  despise  her  husband,  the  man 
of  shares,  companies,  and  stocks.  But  could  she  love 
Colquhoun  ?  Such  a  woman  may  feel  the  passion  of 
jealousy;  she  may  rejoice  in  the  admiration  which  gratifies 
her  vanity;  but  she  is  far  too  cold  and  selfish  for  love.  It 
is  an  artful  fable  of  the  ancients  which  makes  Narcissus 
pine  away  and  die  for  the  loss  of  his  own  image,  for 
thereby  they  teach  the  great  lesson  that  he  who  loves 
himself  destroys  himself. 

The  carriage  wheels  crunched  over  the  gravel,  and  Ga- 
briel Cassilis  raised  a  pale  and  trembling  face — a  face  with 
so  much  desolation  and  horror,  such  a  piteous  gaze  of 
questioning  reproach  at  Colquhoun,  that  the  man's  heart 
melted  within  him.  He  seemed  to  have  grown  old  sud- 
denly; his  hair  looked  whiter;  he  trembled  as  one  who 
has  the  palsy;  and  his  eyes  mutely  asked  the  question, 
"  Is  this  thing  true  ?" 

Lawrence  Colquhoun  made  answer.  His  voice  was  low 
and  gentle;  his  eyes  were  filled  with  tears. 

"  It  is  true,  Mr.  Cassilis.  God  knows  I  would  have 
spared  you  the  knowledge,     But  it  is  true." 

Gabriel  Cassilis  opened  his  lips  as  if  to  speak.  But  he 
refrained,  stopping  suddenly,  because  he  recollected  that 
he  could  no  longer  utter  what  he  wished  to  say.  Then  he 
touched  his  mouth  with  his  fingers  like  a  dumb  man.    He 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  497 

was  worse  than  a  dumb  man,  who  cannot  speak  at  all,  be- 
cause his  tongue,  if  he  allowed  it,  uttered  words  which  had 
no  connection  with  his  thoughts.  Men  that  have  been 
called  possessed  of  the  devil  have  knelt  at  altars,  uttering 
blasphemous  impieties  when  their  souls  were  full  of 
prayer. 

"  Do  you  understand  me,  Mr.  Cassilis  ?  Do  you  com- 
prehend what  I  am  saying  ?" 

He  nodded  his  head. 

Colquhoun  took  a  piece  of  notepaper  from  the  writing- 
table,  and  laid  it  before  him  with  a  pencil.  Mr.  Cassilis 
grasped  the  pencil  eagerly,  and  began  to  write.  From  his 
fingers,  as  from  his  tongue,  came  the  sentence  which  he 
did  not  wish  to  write — 

"  A  fine  day,  and  seasonable  weather  for  the  time  of 
year." 

He  looked  at  this  result  with  sorrowful  heart,  and 
showed  it  to  Colquhoun,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Good  heavens  ? "  cried  Colquhoun,  "  his  mind  is 
gone." 

Gabriel  Cassilis  touched  him  on  the  arm  and  shook  his 
head. 

"He  understands  you,  Lawrence,"  said  Phillis;  "but  he 
cannot  explain  himself.  Something  has  gone  wrong  with 
him  which  we  do  not  know." 

Gabriel  Cassilis  nodded  gratefully  to  Phillis. 

"  Then  Mr.  Cassilis,"  Colquhoun  began,  "  it  is  right 
that  you  should  know  all.  Six  years  ago  I  followed  Vic- 
toria Pengelley  into  Scotland.  We  were  married  privately 
at  a  registrar's  office  under  assumed  names.  If  you  ever 
want  to  know  where  and  by  what  names,  you  have  only  to 
ask  me,  and  I  will  tell  you.  There  were  reasons,  she  said, 
— I  never  quite  understood  what  they  were,  but  she  chose 
to  be  a  fille  romanesque  at  the  time,  -  why  the  marriage 
should  be  kept  secret.  After  the  wedding  ceremony — 
such  as  it  was — she  left  the  office  with  her  maid,  who  was 
the  only  witness,  and  returned  to  the  friends  with  whom 


498  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

she  was  staying  I  met  her  every  day;  but  always  in  that 
house  and  among  other  people.  A  few  days  passed.  She 
would  not,  for  some  whim  of  her  own,  allow  the  marriage 
to  be  disclosed.  We  quarrelled  for  that,  and  other  rea- 
sons— my  fault,  possibly.  Good  God  !  what  a  honey- 
moon !  To  meet  the  woman  you  love — your  bride — in 
society;  if  for  half  an  hour  alone,  then  in  the  solitude  of 
open  observation;  to   quarrel  like  people  who  have  been 

married   for  forty  years Well,  perhaps   it   was  my 

fault.  On  the  fifth  day  we  agreed  to  let  things  be  as  if 
they  had  never  been.  I  left  my  bride,  who  was  not  my 
wife,  in  anger.  We  used  bitter  words — perhaps  I  the  bit- 
terest. And  when  we  parted,  I  bade  her  go  back  to  her 
old  life  as  if  nothing  had  been  promised  on  either  side.  I 
said  she  should  be  free;  that  I  would  never  claim  the 
power  and  the  rights  given  me  by  a  form  of  words;  that 
she  might  marry  again;  that,  to  leave  her  the  more  free,  I 
would  go  away  and  never  return  till  she  was  married,  or 
till  she  gave  me  leave.  I  was  away  for  four  years;  and 
then  I  saw  the  announcement  of  her  marriage  in  the 
paper,  and  I  returned.  That  is  the  bare  history,  Mr. 
Cassilis.  Since  my  return,  on  my  honour  as  a  gentleman, 
you  have  had  no  cause  for  jealousy  in  my  own  behaviour 
towards — your  wife,  not  mine.  Remember,  Mr.  Cassilis, 
whatever  else  may  be  said,  she  never  was  my  wife.  And 
yet,  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  I  suppose  she  is  my  wife  still. 
And  with  all  my  heart  I  pity  you." 

He  stopped,  and  looked  at  the  victim  of  the  crime. 
Gabriel  Cassilis  was  staring  helplessly  from  him  to  Philliso 
Did  he  understand  ?  Not  entirely,  I  think.  Yet  the 
words  which  he  had  heard  fell  upon  his  heart  softly,  and 
soothed  him  in  his  trouble.  At  last  his  eyes  rested  on 
Phillis,  as  if  asking,  as  men  do  in  times  of  trouble,  for  the 
quick  comprehension  of  a  woman. 

"  What  can  I  do,  Mr.  Cassilis  ?"  asked  the  girl.  *'  If 
you  cannot  speak,  will  you  make  some  sign  ?  Any  little 
sign  that  I  can  understand  ?" 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  499 

She  remembered  that  among  her  lesson-books  was  a 
dictionary.  She  put  that  into  his  hand,  and  asked  him  to 
show  her  in  the  dictionary  what  he  wished  to  say. 

He  took  the  book  in  his  trembling  hands,  turned  over 
the  leaves,  and  presently,  finding  the  page  he  wanted,  ran 
his  fingers  down  the  lines  till  they  rested  on  a  word. 

Phillis  read  it,  spelling  it  out  in  her  pretty  little  school- 
girl fashion. 

"  S,  I,  si ;  L,  E,  N,  c,  E,  lence — silence.  Is  that  what  you 
wish  to  say,  Mr.  Cassilis  ?" 

He  nodded. 

"  Silence,"  repeated  Lawrence.  "  For  all  our  sakes  it 
is  the  best — the  only  thing.  Phillis,  tell  no  one  what  you 
have  heard;  not  even  Agatha;  not  even  Jack  Dunquerque. 
Or,  if  you  tell  Jack  Dunquerque,  send  him  to  me  directly 
afterwards.     Do  you  promise,  child  ?" 

"  I  promise,  Lawrence.  I  will  tell  no  one  but  Jack  ; 
and  I  shall  ask  him  first  if  he  thinks  I  ought  to  tell  him 
another  person's  secret." 

"Thank  you,  Phillis.  Mr.  Cassilis,  there  are  only  we 
three  and — and  one  more.  You  may  trust  Phillis  when 
she  promises  a  thing  ;  you  may  trust  me,  for  my  own  sake; 
you  may,  I  hope,  trust  that  other  person.  And  as  for  me, 
it  is  my  intention  to  leave  England  in  a  week.  I  deeply 
regret  that  I  ever  came  back  to  this  country." 

A  week  was  too  far  ahead  for  Mr.  Cassilis  to  look  for- 
ward to  in  his  agitation.  Clearly  the  one  thing  in  his 
mind  at  the  moment — the  one  possible  thing — was  con- 
cealment. He  took  the  dictionary  again,  and  found  the 
word  "  Home." 

"Will  you  let  me  take  you  home,  sir?"  Lawrence 
asked. 

He  nodded  again.  There  was  no  resentment  in  his 
face,  and  none  in  his  feeble  confiding  manner  when  he 
took  Lawrence's  arm  and  leaned  upon  it  as  he  crawled  out 
to  the  carriage. 

Only  one  sign  of  feeling.     He  took  Phillis  by  the  hand 


500  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

and  kissed  her.  When  he  had  kissed  her,  he  laid  his  fin- 
ger on  her  lips.  And  she  understood  his  wish  that  no 
one  should  learn  this  thing. 

"  Not  even  Agatha,  Phillis,"  said  Lawrence.  "  Forget, 
if  you  can.     And  if  you  cannot,  keep  silence." 

They  drove  into  town  together,  these  men  with  a  secret 
between  them.  Lawrence  made  no  further  explanations. 
What  was  there  to  explain  ?  The  one  who  suffered  the 
most  sat  upright,  looking  straight  before  him  in  mute 
suffering. 

It  is  a  long  drive  from  Twickenham  to  Kensington 
Palace  Gardens.  When  they  arrived,  Mr.  Cassilis  was  too 
weak  to  step  out  of  the  carriage.  They  helped  him — 
Lawrence  Colquhoun  and  a  footman — into  the  hall.  He 
was  feeble  with  long  fasting  as  much  as  from  the  effects 
of  this  dreadful  shock. 

They  carried  him  to  his  study.  Among  the  servants 
who  looked  on  was  Tomlinson,  the  middle-aged  maid 
with  the  harsh  face.  She  knew  that  her  bolt  had  fallen 
at  last ;  and  she  saw,  too,  that  it  had  fallen  upon  the  wrong 
person,  for  up-stairs  sat  her  mistress,  calm,  cold  and  col- 
lected. She  came  home  looking  pale  and  a  little  worn  ; 
fatigued,  perhaps,  with  the  constant  round  of  engage- 
ments, though  the  season  was  little  more  than  half  over. 
She  dressed  in  gentle  silence,  which  Tomlinson  could  not 
understand.  She  went  down  to  dinner  alone,  and  pres- 
ently went  to  her  drawing-room,  where  she  sat  in  a  win- 
dow, and  thought. 

There  Colquhoun  found  her. 

"  I  have  told  him  all,"  he  said.  "  Your  words  told  him 
only  half,  and  yet  too  much.  You  were  never  my  wife,  as 
you  know,  and  never  will  be,  though  the  Law  may  make 
you  take  my  name.  Cruel  and  heartless  woman  I  to 
gratify  an  insensate  jealousy  you  have  destroyed  your 
husband." 

"  Is  he — is  he — dead  ?  "  she  cried,  almost  as  if  she  wished 
he  were. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  501 

"No;  he  is  not  dead;  he  is  struck  with  some  fit.  He 
cannot  speak.  Learn,  now,  that  your  jealousy  was  without 
foundation.  Phillis  will  marry  Dunquerque.  As  for  me> 
I  can  never  marry,  as  you  know." 

"  He  is  not  dead  !  "  she  echoed,  taking  no  notice  of  the 
last  words.  Indeed,  Phillis  was  quite  out  of  her  thoughts 
now.     "  Does  he  wish  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  No;    you  must  not,  at  present,  attempt  to  see  him." 

"  What  will  they  do  to  me,  Lawrence  ? "  she  asked 
again.  "  What  can  they  do  ?  I  did  not  mean  him  to  hear. 
It  was  all  to  frighten  you." 

"  To  frighten  me  !  What  they  can  do,  Mrs.  Cassils,  is 
to  put  you  in  the  prisoner's  box  and  me  in  the  witness 
box.  What  he  wants  to  do,  so  far  as  we  can  yet  under- 
stand, is  to  keep  silence." 

"  What  is  the  good  of  that  ?  He  will  cry  his  wrongs  all 
over  the  town,  and  Phillis  will  tell  everybody." 

"  Phillis  will  tell  no  one,  no  one — not  even  Agatha.  It 
was  lucky  that  Agatha  heard  nothing;  she  was  upstairs, 
lying  down  after  her  party.     Will  you  keep  silence  ? " 

"  Of  course  I  shall.     What  else  is  there  for  me  to  do  ? " 

"  For  the  sake  of  your  husband;  for  the  sake  of  your 
boy  " 

"  It  is  for  my  own  sake,  Lawrence,"  she  interrupted 
coldly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  ought  to  have  known  by  this 
time  that  you  would  have  acted  for  your  own  sake  only. 
Victoria,  it  was  an  evil  day  for  me  when  I  met  you;  it  was 
a  worse  day  when  I  consented  to  a  secret  marriage,  which 
was  no  marriage,  when  there  was  no  reason  for  any  secrecy; 
it  was  the  worst  day  of  all  when  I  answered  your  letter, 
and  came  here  to  see  you.  Every  day  we  have  met  has 
produced  more  recrimination.  That  would  not  have  mat- 
tered, but  for  the  mischief  our  meeting  has  wrought  upon 
your  husband.  I  pray  that  we  may  never  in  this  world 
meet  again." 

He  was  gone,  and  Victoria  Cassilis  has  not  met  him: 


502  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

since,  nor  do  I  think  now  that  she  ever  will  meet  him 
again. 

The  summer  night  closed  in;  the  moonlight  came  up 
and  shone  upon  the  Park  before  her,  laying  silvery 
patches  of  light  in  ten  of  thousands  upon  the  young 
leaves  of  the  trees,  and  darkening  the  shadows  a  deeper 
black  by  way  of  contrast.  They  brought  her  tea  and 
lights;  then  they  came  for  orders.  There  were  none; 
she  would  not  go  out  that  night.  At  eleven  Tomlinson 
came. 

"  I  want  nothing,  Tomlinson.  You  need  not  wait  up; 
I  shall  not  want  you  this  evening." 

"Yes,  madam;  no,  madam.  Mr.  Cassilis  is  asleep, 
madam." 

"  Let  some  one  sit  up  with  him.  See  to  that,  Tomlinson; 
and  don't  let  him  be  disturbed." 

"I  will  sit  up  with  him  myself,  madam."  Tomlinson 
was  anxious  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  thing.  What 
mischief  had  been  done,  and  how  far  was  it  her  own  do- 
ing ?  To  persons  who  want  revenge  these  are  very  im- 
portant questions,  when  mischief  has  actually  been 
perpetrated. 

Then  Victoria  was  left  alone.  In  that  great  house,  with 
its  troop  of  servants  and  nurses,  with  her  husband  and 
child,  there  was  no  one  who  cared  to  know  what  she  was 
doing.  The  master  was  not  popular,  because  he  simply 
regarded  every  servant  as  a  machine;  but  at  least  he  was 
just,  and  he  paid  well,  and  the  house,  from  the  point  of 
view  likely  to  be  taken  by  Mr.  Plush  and  Miss  Hairpin, 
was  a  comfortable  one.  The  mistress  of  the  house  was 
unpopular.  Her  temper  at  times  was  intolerable,  her  treat- 
ment of  servants  showed  no  consideration;  and  the  women- 
folk regarded  the  neglect  of  her  own  child  with  the  horror 
of  such  neglect  in  which  the  Englishwoman  of  all  ranks  is 
trained.  So  she  was  alone,  and  remained  alone.  The 
hands  of  the  clock  went  round  and  round;  the  moon  went 
down,  and  over  the  garden  lay  the   soft  sepia  twilight  of 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  503 

June;  the  lamp  on  the  little  table  at  her  elbow  went  out; 
but  she  sat  still,  hands  crossed  in  her  lap,  looking  out  of 
window,  and  thinking. 

She  saw,  but  she  did  not  feel  the  wickedness  of  it,  a 
cold  and  selfish  girl  ripening  into  a  cold  and  selfish 
woman — one  to  whom  the  outer  world  was  as  a  panorama  of 
moving  objects,  meaning  nothing,  and  having  no  connec- 
tion with  herself.  Like  one  blind,  deaf,  and  dumb,  she 
moved  among  the  mobs  who  danced  and  sang,  or  who 
grovelled  and  wept.  She  had  no  tears  to  help  the  suffer- 
ers, and  no  smiles  to  encourage  the  happy;  she  had  never 
been  able  to  sympathise  with  the  acting  of  a  theatre  or 
the  puppets  of  a  novel;  she  was  so  cold  that  she  was  not 
even  critical.  It  seems  odd,  but  it  is  really  true,  that  a 
critic  may  be  actually  too  cold.  She  saw  a  mind  that, 
like  the  Indian  devotee,  was  occupied  for  ever  in  contem- 
plating itself;  she  saw  beauty  which  would  have  been  irre- 
sistible had  there  been  one  gleam,  just  one  gleam  of 
womanly  tenderness;  she  saw  one  man  after  the  other  first 
attracted  and  then  repelled;  and  then  she  came  to  the  one 
man  who  was  not  repelled.  There  was  once  an  unfortu- 
nate creature  who  dared  to  make  love  to  Diana,  His  fate 
is  recorded  in  Lempriere's  Dictionary;  also  in  Dr.  Smith's 
later  and  more  expensive  work.  Lawrence  Colquhoun 
resembled  that  swain,  and  his  fate  was  not  unlike  the 
classical  punishment.  She  went  through  the  form  of  mar- 
riage with  him,  and  then  she  drove  him  from  her  by  the 
cold  wind  of  her  own  intense  selfishness — a  very  Mistral. 
When  he  was  gone  she  began  to  regret  a  slave  of  such  un- 
complaining slavishness.  Well,  no  one  knew  except 
Janet.  Janet  did  not  talk.  It  was  rather  a  struggle,  she 
remembered,  to  take  Gabriel  Cassilis — rather  a  struggle, 
because  Lawrence  Colquhoun  might  come  home  and  tell 
the  story,  not  because  there  was  anything  morally  wrong. 
She  was  most  anxious  to  see  him  when  he  did  come  home 
— out  of  curiosity,  out  of  jealousy,  out  of  a  desire  to  know 
whether  her  old  power  was  gone;  out  of  fear,  out  of  that 


504  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

reason  which  makes  a  criminal  seek  out  from  time  to  time 
the  scene  and  accomplices  of  his  crime,  and  for  the  thou- 
sand reasons  which  make  up  a  selfish  woman's  code  of 
conduct.  It  was  three  o'clock  and  daylight  when  she  dis- 
covered that  she  had  really  thought  the  whole  thing  over 
from  the  beginning,  and  that  there  was  nothing  more  to 
think  about,  except  the  future — a  distasteful  subject  to  all 
sinners. 

"After all/'  she  summed  up,  as  she  rose  to  go  to  bed, 
"  it  is  as  well.  Lawrence  and  I  should  never  have  got 
along.     He  is  too  selfish,  much  too  selfish." 

Down-stairs  they  were  watching  over  the  stricken  man. 
The  doctor  came  and  felt  his  pulse;  he  also  looked  wise, 
and  wrote  things  in  Latin  on  a  paper,  which  he  gave  to  a 
servant.  Then  he  went  away,  and  said  he  would  come  in 
the  morning  again.  He  was  a  great  doctor,  with  a  title, 
and  quite  believed  to  know  everything;  but  he  did  not 
know  what  had  befallen  this  patient. 

When  Gabriel  Cassilis  awoke  there  was  some  confusion 
in  his  mind,  and  his  brain  was  wandering — at  least  it  ap- 
peared so,  because  what  he  said  had  nothing  to  do  with 
any  possible  wish  or  thought.  He  rambled  at  large  and 
at  length;  and  then  he  grew  angry,  and  then  he  became 
suddenly  sorrowful,  and  sighed;  then  he  became  perfectly 
silent.  The  confused  babble  of  speech  ceased  as  suddenly 
as  it  had  come;  and  since  that  morning  Gabriel  Cassilis 
has  not  spoken. 

It  was  at  half-past  nine  that  his  secretary  called,  simul- 
taneously with  the  doctor. 

He  heard  something  from  the  servants,  and  pushed  into 
the  room  where  his  chief  was  lying.  The  eyes  of  the  sick 
man  opened  languidly  and  fell  upon  his  first  officer,  but 
they  expressed  no  interest  and  asked  no  question. 

"  Ah  !"  sighed  Mr.  MowU,  in  the  impatience  of  a  sym- 
pathy which  has  but  little  time  to  spare.  "  Will  he  re- 
cover, doctor  ?" 

'  No  doubt,  no  doubt.     This  way,  my  dear  sir."    He 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  505 

led  the  secretary  out  of  the  room.  •'  Hush  !  he  under- 
stands what  is  said.  This  is  no  ordinary  seizure.  Has  he 
received  any  shock  ?  " 

"  Shock  enough  to  kill  thirty  men,"  said  the  secretary. 
"  Where  was  he  yesterday  ?  Why  did  he  not  say  some- 
thing— do  something — to  avert  the  disaster  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  Then  the  shock  has  been  of  a  financial  kind  ? 
I  gathered  from  Mr.  Colquhoun  that  it  was  of  a  family 
nature — something  sudden  and  distressing." 

"  Family  nature  !  "  echoed  the  secretary.  "  Who  ever 
heard  of  Mr.  Cassils  worrying  himself  about  family 
matters  ?  No,  sir;  when  a  man  is  ruined  he  has  no  time 
to  bother  about  family  matters." 

"  Ruined  ?  The  great  Mr.  Gabriel  Cassilis  ruined  ?  " 
"  I  should  say  so,  and  I  ought  to  know.  They  say  so 
in  the  City;  they  will  say  so  to-night  in  the  papers.  If 
he  were  well,  and  able  to  face  things,  there  might  be — no, 
even  then  there  could  be  no  hope.  Settling-day  this  very 
morning;  and  a  pretty  settling  it  is." 

"  Whatever  day  it  is,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  cannot  have 
him  disturbed.     You  may  return  in  three  or  four  hours,  if 
you  like,  and  then  perhaps  he  may  be  able  to  speak  to 
you.     Just  now,  leave  him  in  peace." 
What  had  happened  was  this: 

When  Mr.  Cassilis  caused  to  be  circulated  a  certain  pam- 
phlet which  we  have  heard  of,  impunging  the  resources  of 
the  Republic  of  Eldorado,  he  wished  the  stock  to  go  down. 
It  did  go  down,  and  he  bought  in — bought  in  so  largely 
that  he  held  two  millions  of  the  stock.  Men  in  his  position 
do  not  buy  large  quantities  of  stock  without  affecting  the 
price — Stock  Exchange  transactions  are  not  secret — and 
Eldorado  Stock  went  up.  This  was  what  Gabriel  Cassilis 
naturally  desired.  Also  the  letter  of  El  Seflor  Don  Bellaco 
de  la  Carambola  to  the  Times,  showing  the  admirable  way 
in  which  Eldorado  loans  were  received  and  administered, 
helped.  The  stock  went  up  from  64,  at  which  price 
Gabriel  Cassilis  bought  in,  to  75,  at  which  he  should  have 


5o6  THE    GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

sold.  Had  he  done  so  at  the  right  moment,  he  would 
have  realised  the  very  handsome  sum  of  two  hundred  and 
sixty  thousand  pounds;  but  the  trouble  of  the  letters 
came,  and  prevented  him  from  acting. 

While  his  mind  was  agitated  by  these — agitated,  as  we 
have  seen,  to  such  an  extent  that  he  could  no  longer  think 
or  work,  or  attend  to  any  kind  of  business — there  arrived 
for  him  telegram  after  telegram,  in  his  own  cipher,  from 
America.  These  lay  unopened.  It  was  disastrous,  be- 
cause they  announced  beforehand  the  fact  which  only  his 
correspondent  knew — the  Eldorado  bonds  were  no  longer 
to  be  paid. 

That  fact  was  now  public.  It  was  made  known  by  all 
the  papers  that  Eldorado,  having  paid  the  interest  out  of 
the  money  borrowed,  had  no  further  resources  whatever, 
and  could  pay  no  more.  It  was  stated  in  leading  articles 
that  England  should  have  known  all  along  what  a  miser- 
able country  Eldorado  is.  The  British  public  were 
warned  too  late  not  to  trust  in  Eldorado  promises  any 
more;  and  the  unfortunates  who  held  Eldorado  Stock 
were  actuated  by  one  common  impulse  to  sell,  and  no  one 
would  buy.  It  was  absurd  to  quote  Eldorado  bonds  at 
anything;  and  the  great  financier  had  to  meet  his  engage- 
ments by  finding  the  difference  between  stock  at  64  and 
stock  at  next  to  nothing  for  two  millions. 

Gabriel  Cassilis  was  consequently  ruined.  When  it  be- 
came known  that  he  had  some  sort  of  stroke,  people  said 
that  it  was  the  shock  of  the  fatal  news.  He  made  the  one 
mistake  of  an  otherwise  faultless  career,  they  said  to  each 
other,  in  trusting  Eldorado,  and  his  brain  could  not  stand 
the  blow.  When  the  secretary,  who  understood  the  cipher, 
came  to  open  the  letters  and  telegrams,  he  left  off  talking 
about  the  fatal  shock  of  the  news.  It  must  have  been 
something  else — something  he  knew  nothing  of,  because 
he  saw  the  blow  might  have  been  averted;  and  the  man's 
mind,  clear  enough  when  he  went  in  for  a  great  coup,  had 
become  unhinged  during  the  few  days  before  the  smash. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  507 

Ruined !  Gabriel  Cassilis  knew  nothing  about  the 
wreck  of  his  life,  as  he  lay  upon  his  bed  afraid  to  speak 
because  he  would  only  babble  incoherently.  All  was  gone 
from  him — money,  reputation,  wife.  He  had  no  longer 
anything.  The  anonymous  correspondent  had  taken  all 
away. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

"  This  comes  of  airy  visions  and  the  whispers 
Of  demons  like  to  angels.    Brother,  weep." 

GILEAD  BECK,  returning  from  the  Twickenham 
party  before  the  explosion,  found  Jack  Dunquerque 
waiting  for  him.     As  we  have  seen,  he  was  not  invited. 

"  Tell  me  how  she  was  looking  !"  he  cried.  "  Did  she 
ask  after  me  ?" 

"  Wal,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  I  reckon  you  the  most  fortu- 
nate individual  in  the  hull  world.  She  looked  like  an 
angel,  and  she  talked  like  a — like  a  woman,  with  pretty 
blushes;  and  yet  she  wasn't  ashamed  neither.  Seems  as 
if  bein'  ashamed  isn't  her  strong  point.  And  what  has 
she  got  to  be  ashamed  of  ?" 

"  Did  Colquhoun  say  anything  ?" 

"  We  had  already  got  upon  the  subject,  and  I  had  ven- 
tured to  make  him  a  proposition.  You  see,  Mr.  Dun- 
querque " — he  grew  confused,  and  hesitated — **  fact  is,  I 
want  you  to  look  at  things  just  exactly  as  I  do.  I'm  rich. 
I  have  struck  He;  that  He  is  the  mightiest  Special  Provi- 
dence ever  given  to  a  single  man.  But  it's  given  for  pur- 
poses. And  one  of  those  purposes  is  that  some  of  it's  got 
to  go  to  you." 

"  To  me  ?" 

"  To  you,  Mr.  Dunquerque.  Who  fired  that  shot  ?  Who 
delivered  me  from  the  Grisly  ?" 

"  Why,  Ladds  did  as  much  as  I." 

Mr,  Beck  shook  his  head, 


5o8  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  Captain  Ladds  is  a  fine  fellow,"  he  said.  "  Steady  as 
a  rock  is  Capta'n  Ladds.  There's  nobody  I'd  rather 
march  under  if  we'd  the  war  to  do  all  over  again.  But  the 
He  isn't  for  Captain  Ladds.  It  isn't  for  him  that  the 
Golden  Butterfly  fills  me  with  yearnin's.  No  sir.  I  owe 
it  all  to  you.  You've  saved  my  life;  you've  sought  me 
out,  and  gone  about  this  city  with  me;  you've  put  me  up 
to  ropes;  you've  taken  me  to  that  sweet  creature's  house 
and  made  her  my  friend.  And  Mrs.  L'Estrange  my  friend, 
too.  If  I  was  to  turn  away  and  forget  you,  I  should  de- 
serve to  lose  that  precious  Inseck." 

He  paused  for  a  minute. 

"  I  said  to  Mr.  Colquhoun,  *  Mr.  Dunquerque  shall  have 
half  of  my  pile,  and  more  if  he  wants  it.  Only  you  let  him 
come  back  again  to  Miss  Fleming.'  And  he  laughed  in 
his  easy  way;  there's  no  kind  of  man  in  the  States  like 
that  Mr.  Colquhoun — seems  as  if  he  never  wants  to  get 
anything.  He  laughed  and  lay  back  on  the  grass.  And 
then  he  said,  *  My  dear  fellow,  let  Jack  come  back  if  he 
likes;  there's  no  fighting  against  fate;  only  let  him  have 
the  decency  not  to  announce  his  engagement  till  Phillis 
has  had  her  first  season.'  Then  he  drank  some  cider-cup, 
and  lay  back  again.  Mrs.  Cassilis — she's  a  very  superior 
woman  that,  but  a  trifle  cold,  I  should  say — watched  him 
whenever  he  spoke.  She's  got  a  game  of  her  own,  unless 
I  am  mistaken." 

'But,  Beck,"  Jack  gasped,"!   can't   do  this  thing;  I 
can't  take  your  money." 

«  I  guess,  sir,  you  can,  and  I  guess  you  will.  Come, 
Mr.  Dunquerque,  say  you  won't  go  against  Providence. 
There's  a  sweet  young  lady  waiting  for  you,  and  a  little 
mountain  of  dollars." 

But  Jack  shook  his  head. 

"  I  thank  you  all  the  same,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  never 
forget  your  generosity — never.     But  that  cannot  be." 

"  We  will  leave  it  to  Miss  Fleming,"  said  Gilead. 
<'  What  Miss  Fleming  says  is  to  be,  shall  be  '' 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  509 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  two  letters. 

The  first  was  from  Joseph  Jagenal.  It  informed  him  that 
he  had  learned  from  his  brothers  that  they  had  received 
money  from  him  on  account  of  work  which  he  thought 
would  never  be  done.  He  enclosed  a  cheque  for  the  full 
amount,  with  many  thanks  for  his  kindness,  and  the  earn- 
est hope  that  he  would  advance  nothing  more. 

In  the  letter  was  his  cheque  for  ^^400,  the  amount 
which  the  Twins  had  borrowed  during  the  four  weeks  of 
their  acquaintance. 

Mr.  Beck  put  the  cheque  in  his  pocket  and  opened  the 
other  letter.  It  was  from  Cornelius,  and  informed  him 
that  the  Poem  could  not  possibly  be  finished  in  the  time; 
that  it  was  rapidly  advancing;  but  that  he  could  not 
pledge  himself  to  completing  the  work  by  October.  Also, 
that  his  brother  Humphrey  found  himself  in  the  same 
position  as  regarded  the  Picture.  He  ended  by  the 
original  statement  that  Art  cannot  be  forced. 

Mr.  Beck  laughed. 

"  Not  straight  men,  Mr.  Dunquerque.  I  suspected  it 
first  when  they  backed  out  at  the  dinner,  and  left  me  to  do 
the  talk.  Wal,  they  may  be  high-toned,  whole-souled, 
and  talented;  but  give  me  the  man  who  works.  Now 
Mr.  Dunquerque,  if  you  please,  we'll  go  and  have  some 
dinner,  and  you  shall  talk  about  Miss  Fleming.  And  the 
day  after  to-morrow — you  note  that  down — I've  asked 
Mrs.  L'Estrange  and  Miss  Phillis  to  breakfast.  Captain 
Ladds  is  coming,  and  Mr.  Colquhoun.  And  you  shall  sit 
next  to  her.  Mrs.  Cassilis  is  coming  too.  When  I  asked 
her  she  wanted  to  know  if  Mr.  Colquhoun  was  to  be  there. 
I  said  yes.  Then  she  wanted  to  know  if  Phillis  was  to  be 
there.  I  said  yes.  Then  she  set  her  lips  hard,  and  said, 
« I  will  come,  Mr.  Beck.'  She  isn't  happy,  that  lady;  she's 
got  somethin'  on  her  mind." 

That  evening  Joseph  Jagenal  had  an  unpleasant  duty  to 
perform.     It  was  at  dinner  that  he  spoke.     The  Twins 


5IO  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

were  just  taking  their  first  glass  of  port.  He  had  been 
quite  silent  through  dinner,  eating  little.  Now  he  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  without  a  word. 

They  changed  colour.  Instinctively  they  knew  what 
was  coming.     He  said  with  a  gulp: 

"  I  am  sorry  to  find  that  my  brothers  have  not  been 
acting  honourably." 

"  What  is  this,  brother  Humphrey,"  asked  Cornelius. 

"  I  do  not  know,  brother  Cornelius,"  said  the  Artist. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  said  Joseph,  "what  they  have  done. 
They  made  a  disingenuous  attempt  to  engage  the  affec- 
tions of  a  rich  young  lady  for  the  sake  of  her  money." 

"  If  Humphrey  loved  the  girl  " began  Cornelius. 

"  If  Cornelius  was  devoted  to  Phillis  Fleming  " be- 
gan Humphrey. 

"  I  was  not,  Humphrey,"  said  Cornelius.  "  No  such 
thing.     And  I  told  you  so." 

"  I  never  did  love  her,"  said  Humphrey.  "  I  always 
said  it  was  you." 

This  was  undignified. 

"  I  do  not  care  which  it  was.  It  belongs  to  both.  Then 
you  went  down  to  her  again,  under  the  belief  that  she  was 
engaged  to — to — the  Lord  knows  which  of  you — and 
solemnly  broke  it  off." 

Neither  spoke  this  time. 

"  Another  thing.  I  regret  to  find  that  my  brothers, 
having  made  a  contract  for  certain  work  with  Mr.  Gilead 
Beck,  and  having  been  partly  paid  in  advance,  are  not  exe- 
cuting the  work." 

<*  There,  Joseph,"  said  Humphrey,  waving  his  hand  as 
if  this  was  a  matter  on  quite  another  footing,  "  you  must 
excuse  us.  We  know  what  is  right  in  Art,  if  we  know 
nothing  else.    Art,  Joseph,  cannot  be  forced." 

Cornelius  murmured  assent. 

"We  have  our  dignity  to  stand  upon;  we  retreat  with 
dignity.  We  say,  "  We  will  not  be  forced ;  we  will  give 
the  world  our  best," 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  5  II 

"Good,"  said  Joseph.  "That  is  very  well;  but  where 
is  the  money  ? " 

Neither  answered. 

"  I  have  returned  that  money;  but  it  is  a  large  sum,  and 
you  must  repay  me  in  part.  Understand  me,  brothers- 
You  may  stay  here  as  long  as  I  live:  I  shall  never  ask 
more  of  you  than  to  respect  the  family  name.  There  was 
a  time  when  you  promised  great  things,  and  I  believed  in 
you.  It  is  only  quite  lately  that  I  have  learned  to  my 
sorrow  that  all  this  promise  has  been  for  years  a  pretence. 
You  sleep  all  day — you  call  it  work.  You  habitually 
drink  too  much  at  night.  You,  Cornelius" — the  Poet 
started — "have  not  put  pen  to  paper  for  years.  You, 
Humphrey" — the  Artist  hung  his  head — "have  neither 
drawn  nor  painted  anything  since  you  came  to  live  with 
me.  I  cannot  make  either  of  you  work.  I  cannot  re- 
trieve the  past.  I  cannot  restore  lost  habits  of  industry. 
I  cannot  even  make  you  feel  your  fall  from  the  promise 
of  your  youth,  or  remember  the  hopes  of  our  father. 
What  I  can  do  is  to  check  your  intemperate  habits  by 
such  means  as  are  in  my  power." 

He  stopped  ;  they  were  trembling  violently. 

"  Half  of  the  ;^4oo  which  you  have  drawn  from  Mr. 
Beck  will  be  paid  by  household  saving.  Wine  will  disap- 
pear from  my  table  ;  brandy-and-soda  will  have  to  be 
bought  at  your  own  expense.  I  shall  order  the  dinners, 
and  I  shall  keep  the  key  of  the  wine-cellar." 

A  year  has  passed.  The  Twins  have  had  a  sad  time ; 
they  look  forward  with  undisguised  eagerness  to  the  re- 
turn of  the  years  of  fatness  ;  they  have  exhausted  their 
own  little  income  in  purchasing  the  means  for  their  mid- 
night seances;  and  they  have  run  up  a  frightful  score  at 
the  Carnarvon  Arms. 

But  they  still  keep  up  bravely  the  pretence  about  their 
work. 


512  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 


CHAPTER     XLIV. 


*•  So,  on  the  mins  he  himself  had  made. 
Sat  Marius  reft  of  all  bis  former  glory." 

*' /^^AN  you  understand  me,  sir?" 
V_>  Gabriel  Cassilis  sat  in  his  own  study.  It  was 
the  day  after  the  garden-party.  He  slept  through  the 
night,  and  in  the  morning  rose  and  dressed  as  usual. 
Then  he  took  his  seat  in  his  customary  chair  at  his  table. 
Before  him  lay  papers,  but  he  did  not  read  them.  He  sat 
upright,  his  frock-coat  tightly  buttoned  across  his  chest, 
and  rapped  his  knuckles  with  his  gold  eyeglasses  as  if  he 
was  thinking. 

They  brought  him  breakfast,  and  he  took  a  cup  of  tea. 
Then  he  motioned  them  to  take  the  things  away.  They 
gave  him  the  Times,  and  he  laid  it  mechanically  at  his 
elbow.  But  he  did  not  speak,  nor  did  he  seem  to  attend 
to  what  was  done  around  him.  And  his  eyes  had  a  far- 
off  look  in  them. 

"  Can  you  understand  me,  sir  ?" 

The  speaker  was  his  secretary.  He  came  in  a  cab, 
panting,  eager  to  see  if  there  was  still  any  hope.  Some- 
how or  other  it  was  whispered  already  in  the  City  that 
Gabriel  Cassilis  had  had  some  sort  of  stroke.  And  there 
was  terrible  news  besides. 

Mr.  Mowll  asked  because  there  was  something  in  his 
patron's  face  which  frightened  him.  His  eyes  were 
changed.  They  had  lost  the  keen  sharp  look  which  in  a 
soldier  means  victory  ;  in  a  scholar,  clearness  of  purpose  ; 
in  a  priest,  knowledge  of  human  nature  and  ability  to  use 
that  knowledge  in  a  financier,  the  power  and  the  intuition 
of  success.  That  was  gone.  In  its  place  an  expression 
almost  of  childish  softness.  And  another  thing — the  lips, 
once  set  firm  and  close,  were  parted  now  and  mobile. 

The  other  things  were  nothing.     That  a  man  of  sixty- 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  513 

five  should  in  a  single  night  become  a  man  of  eighty;  that 
the  iron  grey  hair  should  become  white  ;  that  a  steady 
hand  should  shake,  and  straight  shoulders  be  bent.  It 
was  the  look  in  his  face,  the  far-off  look,  which  made  the 
secretary  ask  that  question  before  he  went  on. 

Mr.  Cassilis  nodded  his  head  gently.  He  could  under- 
stand. 

"You  left  the  telegrams  unopened  for  a  week  and 
more  !"  cried  the  impatient  clerk.  "  Why — Oh,  why  ! — 
did  you  not  let  me  open  them  ?" 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  If  I  had  known,  I  could  have  acted.  Even  the  day 
before  yesterday  I  could  have  acted.  The  news  came 
yesterday  morning.  It  was  all  over  the  City  by  three. 
And  Eldorados  down  to  nothing  in  a  moment." 

Mr.  Cassilis  looked  a  mild  inquiry.  No  anxiety  in  that 
look  at  all. 

"  Eldorado  won't  pay  up  her  interest.  It's  due  next 
week.  Nothing  to  pay  it  with.  Your  agent  in  New  York 
telegraphed  this  a  week  ago.  He's  been  confirming  the 
secret  every  day  since.  O  Lord  !  O  Lord  !  And  you 
the  only  man  who  had  the  knowledge,  and  all  that  stake 
in  it  !     Can  you  speak,  sir .?" 

For  his  master's  silence  was  terrible  to  him. 

"  Listen,  then.  Ten  days  ago  Eldorados  went  down  after 
Wylie's  pamphlet.  You  told  him  what  to  write  and  you 
paid  him,  just  as  you  did  last  year.  But  you  tried  to  hide 
it  from  me.  That  was  wrong,  sir.  I've  served  you  faith- 
fully for  twenty  years.  But  never  mind  that.  You  bought 
in  at  64.  Then  the  Eldorado  minister  wrote  to  the  paper. 
Stock  went  up  to  75.  You  stood  to  win,  only  the  day 
before  yesterday,  ^^260,000;  more  than  a  quarter  of  a 
million.  Yesterday,  by  three,  they  were  down  to  16. 
This  morning  they  are  down  to  8.  And  it's  settling-day, 
and  you  lose — you  lose — your  all.  Oh,  what  a  day,  what 
a  day  !" 

Still  no  complaint,  not  even  a  sigh  from  the  patient  man 


^14  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

in  the  Windsor  chair.     Only  that   gentle   tapping   of  the 
knuckles,  and  that  far-off  look. 

"  The  great  name  of  Gabriel  Cassilis  dragged  in  the 
dust !  All  your  reputation  gone — the  whole  work  of  your 
life — O  sir  !  can't  you  feel  even  that  ?  Can't  you  feel 
the  dreadful  end  of  it  all — Gabriel  Cassilis.  the  great 
Gabriel  Cassilis,  a  Lame  DuckI" 

Not  even  that.  The  work  of  his  life  was  forgotten  with 
all  its  hopes,  and  the  great  financier,  listening  to  his  clerk 
with  the  polite  impatience  of  one  who  listens  to  a  weari- 
some sermon,  was  trying  to  understand  what  was  the 
meaning  of  that  black  shadow  which  lay  upon  his  mind 
and  made  him  uneasy.  For  the  rest  a  perfect  calm  in  his 
brain. 

"People  will  say  it  was  the  shock  of  the  Eldorado  smash. 
Well,  sir,  it  wasn't  that;  I  know  so  much;  but  it's  best  to 
let  people  think  so.  If  you  haven't  a  penny  left  in  the 
world  you  have  your  character,  and  that's  as  high  as  ever. 
"  Fortunately,"  Mr.  Mowll  went  on,  "  my  own  little 
savings  were  not  in  Eldorado  Stock.  But  my  employ- 
ment is  gone,  I  suppose.  You  will  recommend  me,  I 
hope,  sir.  And  I  do  think  that  I've  got  some  little  repu- 
tation in  the  City." 

It  was  not  for  want  of  asserting  himself  that  this  worthv 
man  failed,  at  any  rate,  of  achieving  his  reputation.  For 
twenty  years  he  had  magnified  his  office  as  confidential 
adviser  of  a  great  City  light;  among  his  friends  and  in  his 
usual  haunts  he  successfully  posed  as  one  burdened  with 
the  weight  of  affairs,  laden  with  responsibility,  and  at  all 
times  oppressed  by  the  importance  of  his  thoughts.  He 
carried  a  pocket-book  which  shut  with  a  clasp;  in  the 
midst  of  a  conversation  he  would  stop,  become  abstracted, 
rush  at  the  pocket-book,  so  to  speak,  confide  a  jotting  to 
its  care,  shut  it  with  a  snap,  and  then  go  on  with  a  smile 
and  an  excuse.  Some  said  that  he  stood  in  with  Gabriel 
Cassilis;  all  thought  that  he  shared  his  secrets,  and  gave 
advice  when  asked  for  it. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  5x5 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  a  clerk,  and  had  always 
been  a  clerk  ;  but  he  was  a  clerk  who  knew  a  few  things 
which  might  have  been  awkward  if  told  generally.  He 
had  a  fair  salary,  but  no  confidence,  no  advice,  and  not 
much  more  real  knowledge  of  what  his  chief  was  doing 
than  any  outsider.  And  in  this  tremendous  smash  it  was 
a  great  consolation  to  him  to  reflect  that  the  liabilities  re- 
presented an  amount  for  which  it  was  really  a  credit  to  fail. 

Mr.  Mowll  has  since  got  another  place  where  the  trans- 
actions are  not  so  large,  but  perhaps  his  personal  emolu- 
ments greater.  In  the  evenings  he  will  talk  of  the  great 
failure. 

"  We  stood  to  win,"  he  will  say,  leaning  back  with  a 
superior  smile, — "  we  stood  to  win  ;^26o,ooo.  We  lost  a 
million  and  a  quarter.  I  told  him  not  to  hang  on  too 
long.  Against  my  advice  he  did.  I  remember — ah,  only  four 
days  before  it  happened — he  said  to  me,  *  Mowll,  my  boy,* 
he  said,  *  I've  never  known  you  wrong  yet.  But  for  once 
I  fancy  my  own  opinion.  We've  worked  together  for 
twenty  years,'  he  said,  *  and  you've  the  clearest  head  of 
any  man  I  ever  saw,'  he  said.  *  But  here  I  think  you're 
wrong.  And  I  shall  hold  on  for  another  day  or  two,'  he 
said.  Ah,  little  he  knew  what  a  day  or  two  would  bring 
forth  !  And  he  hasn't  spoken  since.  Plays  with  his  little 
boy,  and  goes  about  in  a  Bath-chair.  What  a  man  he  was! 
and  what  a  pair — if  I  may  say  so — we  made  between  us 
among  the  bulls  and  the  bears!     Dear  me,  dear  me!  *' 

It  may  be  mentioned  here  that  everything  was  at  once 
given  up;  the  house  in  Kensington  Palace  Gardens,  with 
its  costly  furniture,  its  carriages,  plate,  library,  and  pic- 
tures. Mr.  Cassilis  signed  whatever  documents  were 
brought  for  signature  without  hesitation,  provided  a  copy 
of  his  own  signature  was  placed  before  him.  Otherwise 
he  could  not  write  his  name. 

And  never  a  single  word  of  lamentation,  reproach,  or 
sorrow.  The  past  was,  and  is  still,  dead  to  him;  all  the 
past  except  one  thing,  and  that  is  ever  with  hiin. 


5l6  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

For  sixty  years  of  his  life,  this  man  of  the  City,  whose 
whole  desire  was  to  make  money,  to  win  in  the  game 
which  he  played  with  rare  success  and  skill,  regarded 
bankruptcy  as  the  one  thing  to  be  dreaded,  or  at  least  to 
be  looked  upon,  because  it  was  absurd  to  dread  it,  as  a 
thing  bringing  with  it  the  whole  of  dishonour.  Not  to 
meet  your  engagements  was  to  be  in  some  sort  a  criminal. 
And  now  he  was  proclaimed  as  one  who  could  not  meet 
his  engagements. 

If  he  understood  what  had  befallen  him  he  did  not  care 
about  it.  The  trouble  was  slight  indeed  in  comparison 
with  the  other  disaster.  The  honour  of  his  wife  and  the 
legitimacy  of  his  child — these  were  gone;  and  the  man 
felt  what  it  is  that  is  greater  than  money  gained  or  money 
lost. 

The  blow  which  fell  upon  him  left  his  brain  clear  while 
it  changed  the  whole  course  of  his  thoughts  and  deprived 
him  partially  of  memory.  But  it  destroyed  his  power  of 
speech.  That  rare  and  wonderful  disease  which  seems 
to  attack  none  but  the  strongest,  which  separates  the  brain 
from  the  tongue,  takes  away  the  knowledge  and  the  sense 
of  language,  and  kills  the  power  of  connecting  words  with 
things,  while  it  leaves  that  of  understanding  what  is  said 
— the  disease  which  doctors  call  Aphasia — was  upon  Mr. 
Gabriel  Cassilis. 

In  old  men  this  is  an  incurable  disease.  Gabriel  Cassilis 
will  never  speak  again.  He  can  read,  listen,  and  under- 
stand, but  he  can  frame  no  words  with  his  lips  nor  write 
them  with  his  hand.  He  is  a  prisoner  who  has  free  use  of 
his  limbs.  He  is  separated  from  the  world  by  a  greater 
gulf  than  that  which  divides  the  blind  and  the  deaf  from 
the  rest  of  us,  because  he  cannot  make  known  his  thoughts, 
his  wants,  or  his  wishes. 

It  took  some  time  to  discover  what  was  the  matter  with 
him.  Patients  are  not  often  found  suffering  from  aphasia, 
and  paralysis  was  the  first  name  given  to  his  disease. 

But  it  was  very  early  found  out  that  Mr.  Cassilis  under- 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  jiy 

Stood  all  that  was  said  to  him,  and  by  degrees  they  learned 
what  he  liked  and  what  he  disliked. 

Victoria  Cassilis  sat  up-stairs,  waiting  for  something- 
she  knew  not  what— to  happen.  Her  maid  told  her 
that  Mr.  Cassilis  was  ill;  she  made  no  reply;  she  did  not 
ask  to  see  him;  she  did  not  ask  for  any  further  news  of 
him.     She  sat  in  her  own  room  for  two  days,  waiting. 

Then  Joseph  Jagenal  asked  if  he  might  see  her. 

She  refused  at  first;  but  on  hearing  that  he  proposed  to 
stay  in  the  house  till  she  could  receive  him,  she  gave 
way. 

He  came  from  Lawrence,  perhaps.  He  would  bring 
her  a  message  of  some  kind;  probably  a  menace. 

"  You  have  something  to  say  to  me,  Mr.  Jagenal  ?"  Her 
face  was  set  hard,  but  her  eyes  were  wistful.  He  saw 
that  she  was  afraid.  When  a  woman  is  afraid,  you  may 
make  her  do  pretty  well  what  you  please. 

"  I  have  a  good  deal  to  tell  you,  Mrs.  Cassilis;  and  I 
am  sorry  to  say  it  is  of  an  unpleasant  nature. 

"I  have  heard,  '  he  went  on.  "from  Mr.  Colquhoun 
that  you  made  a  remarkable  statement  in  the  presence  of 
Miss  Fleming,  and  in  the  hearing  of  Mr.  Cassilis." 

"  Lawrence  informed  you  correctly,  I  have  no  doubt," 
she  replied  coldly. 

"  That  statement  of  course  was  untrue,"  said  Joseph, 
knowing  that  no  record  ever  was  more  true.  "  And  there- 
fore I  venture  to  advise  " 

"  On  the  part  of  Lawrence  ?" 

"  In  the  name  of  Mr.  Colquhoun,  partly;  partly  in  your 
own  interest" 

"  Go  on,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Jagenal." 

"  Believing  that  statement  to  be  untrue,"  he  repeated, 
*  for  otherwise  I  could  not  give  this  advice,  I  recommend 
to  all  parties  concerned— silence.  Your  husbands  paraly- 
sis is  attributed  to  the  shock  of  his  bankruptcy " 

"  His  what  ?"  cried  Victoria,  who  had  heard  as  yet 
nothing  of  ihe  City  disaster; 


5l8  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

"  His  bankruptcy.     Mr.  Cassilis  is  ruined." 

"  Ruined  !     Mr.  Cassilis  !" 

She  was  startled  out  of  herself. 

Ruined  !  The  thought  of  such  disaster  had  never  once 
crossed  her  brains.  Ruined  !  That  Colossus  of  wealth — 
the  man  whom  she  married  for  his  money,  while  secretly 
she  despised  his  power  of  accumulating  money  ! 

"  He  is  ruined,  Mrs.  Cassilis,  and  hopelessly.  I  have 
read  certain  papers  which  he  put  into  my  hands  this 
morning.  It  is  clear  to  me  that  his  mind  has  been  for 
some  weeks  agitated  by  certain  anonymous  letters  which 
came  to  him  every  day,  and  accused  you — pardon  me, 
Mrs.  Cassilis — accused  you  of — infidelity.  The  letters 
state  that  there  is  a  secret  of  some  kind  connected  with 
your  former  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Colquhoun;  that  you 
have  been  lately  in  the  habit  of  receiving  him  or  meeting 
him  every  day;  that  you  were  in  his  chambers  one  evening 
when  Mr.  Cassilis  called;  with  other  particulars  extremely 
calculated  to  excite  jealousy  and  suspicion.  Lastly,  he 
was  sent  by  the  writer  to  Twickenham.  The  rest,  I  believe 
you  know." 

She  made  no  reply. 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt,  not  the  least  doubt,  that  had 
your  husband's  mind  been  untroubled,  this  would  never 
have  happened.     The  disaster  is  due  to  his  jealousy." 

"  I  could  kill  her  !"  said  Mrs.  Cassilis,  clenching  her  fist. 
« I  could  kill  her  !" 

"  Kill  whom  ?" 

"  The  woman  who  wrote  those  letters.  It  was  a  woman. 
No  man  could  have  done  such  a  thing.  A  woman's  trick. 
Go  on." 

"  There  is  nothing  more  to  say.  How  far  other  people 
are  involved  with  your  husband,  I  cannot  tell.  I  am  going 
now  into  the  City  to  find  out  if  I  can.  Your  wild  words, 
Mrs.  Cassilis,  and  your  unguarded  conduct,  have  brought 
about  misfortunes  on  which  you  little  calculated.  But  I 
am  not  here  to  reproach  you." 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  519 

"You  are  my  husband's  man  of  business,  I  suppose," 
she  replied  coldly — "  a  paid  servant  of  his.  What  you  say 
has  no  importance,  nor  what  you  think.  What  did  Law- 
rence bid  you  tell  me  ?" 

Joseph  Jagenal's  face  clouded  for  a  moment.  But  what 
was  the  good  of  feeling  resentment  with  such  a  woman, 
and  in  such  a  miserable  business  ?" 

"  You  have  two  courses  open  to  you,"  he  went  on.  "You 
may,  by  repeating  the  confession  you  made  in  the  hearing 
of  Mr.  Cassilis,  draw  upon  yourself  such  punishment  as 
the  Law,  provided  the  confession  be  true,  can  inflict. 
That  will  be  a  grievous  thing  to  you.  It  will  drive  you 
out  of  society,  and  brand  you  as  a  criminal  ;  it  will  lock 
you  up  for  two  years  in  prison  ;  it  will  leave  a  stigma 
never  to  be  forgotten  or  obliterated  ;  it  means  ruin  far, 
far  worse  than  what  you  have  brought  on  Mr.  Cassilis. 
On  the  other  hand,  you  may  keep  silence.  This  at  least 
will  secure  the  legitimacy  of  your  boy,  and  will  keep  for 
you  the  amount  settled  on  you  at  your  marriage.  But 
you  may  choose.  If  the  statement  you  made  is  true,  of 
course  I  can  be  no  party  to  compounding  a  felony  " 

"  And  Lawrence  ?"  she  interposed.  "  What  does  Law- 
rence say  ?" 

"In  any  case  Mr.  Colquhoun  will  leave  England  at  once." 

"  He  will  marry  that  Phillis  girl  ?  You  may  tell  him," 
she  hissed  out,  "  that  I  will  do  anything  and  suffer  any- 
thing rather  than  consent  to  his  marrying  her,  or  any  one 
else." 

"  Mr.  Colquhoun  informs  me  further,"  pursued  the 
crafty  lawyer,  "  that,  for  some  reason  only  known  to  him- 
self, he  will  never  marry  during  the  life  of  a  certain  per- 
son. Phillis  Fleming  will  probably  marry  the  Honourable 
Mr.  Ronald  Dunquerque." 

She  buried  her  head  in  her  hands,  not  to  hide  any 
emotion,  for  there  was  none  to  hide,  but  to  think.  Pres- 
ently she  rose,  and  said,  "  Take  me  to — my  husband,  if 
you  please." 


520  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

Joseph  Jagenal,  as  a  lawyer,  is  tolerably  well  versed  in 
such  wickedness  and  deceptions  as  the  human  heart  is 
capable  of.  At  the  same  time,  he  acknowledges  to  him- 
self that  the  speech  made  by  Victoria  Cassilis  to  her  hus- 
band, and  the  manner  in  which  it  was  delivered,  surpassed 
anything  he  had  ever  experienced  or  conceived. 

Gabriel  Cassilis  was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair  near  his 
table.  In  his  arms  was  his  infant  son,  a  child  of  a  year 
old,  for  whose  amusement  he  was  dangling  a  bunch  of 
keys.     The  nurse  was  standing  beside  him. 

When  his  wife  opened  the  door  he  looked  up,  and  there 
crossed  his  face  a  sudden  expression  of  such  repulsion, 
indignation,  and  horror,  that  the  lawyer  fairly  expected 
the  lady  to  give  way  altogether.  Bnt  she  did  not.  Then 
Mrs,  Cassilis  motioned  the  nurse  to  leave  them,  and  Vic- 
toria said  what  she  had  come  to  say.  She  stood  at  the 
table,  in  the  attitude  of  one  who  commands  respect  rather 
than  one  who  entreats  pardon.  Her  accentuation  was 
precise,  and  her  words  as  carefully  chosen  as  if  she  had 
written  them  down  first.  But  her  husband  held  his  eyes 
down,  as  if  afraid  of  meeting  her  gaze.  You  would  have 
called  him  a  culprit  waiting  for  reproof  and  punishment. 

*'  I  learn  to-day  for  the  first  time  that  you  have  suffered 
from  certain  attacks  made  upon  me  by  an  anonymous 
writer  ;  I  learn  also  for  the  first  time,  and  to  my  great  re- 
gret, that  you  have  suffered  in  fortune  as  well  as  in 
health.  I  have  myself  been  too  ill  in  mind  and  body  to 
be  told  anything.  I  am  come  to  say  at  once  that  I  am 
sorry  if  any  rash  words  of  mine  have  given  you  pain,  or 
any  foolish  actions  of  mine  have  given  you  reason  for 
jealousy.  The  exact  truth  is  that  Lawrence  Colquhoun 
and  I  were  once  engaged.  The  breaking  off  of  that  en- 
gagement caused  me  at  the  time  the  greatest  unhappiness. 
I  resolved  then  that  he  should  never  be  engaged  to  any 
other  girl  if  I  could  prevent  it  by  any  means  in  my  power. 
}^ly  whole  action  of  late,  which  appeared  to  you  as  if  I 
was  running  after  an  old  lover,  was  the  prevention  of  his 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  52I 

engagement,  which  I  determined  to  break  off,  with  Phillis 
Fleming.  In  the  heat  of  my  passion  I  used  words  which 
were  not  true.  They  occurred  to  me  at  the  moment.  I 
said  he  was  my  husband.  I  meant  to  have  said  my 
promised  husband.  You  now  know,  Mr.  Cassilis,  the 
whole  secret.  I  am  deeply  humiliated  in  having  to  con- 
fess my  revengeful  spirit.  I  am  punished  in  your  afflic- 
tion." 

Always  herself  ;  always  her  own  punishment. 

"  We  can  henceforth,  I  presume,  Mr.  Cassilis,  resume 
our  old  manner  of  life." 

Mr.  Cassilis  made  no  answer,  but  he  patted  the  head 
of  his  child,  and  Joseph  Jagenal  saw  the  tears  running 
down  his  cheeks.  For  he  knew  that  the  woman  lied  to 
him. 

"  For  the  sake  of  the  boy,  Mr.  Cassilis,"  the  lawyer 
pleaded,  "  let  things  go  on  as  before." 

He  made  no  sign. 

"  Will  you  let  me  say  something  for  you  in  the  interests 
of  the  child.'" 

He  nodded. 

"  Then,  Mrs.  Cassilis,  your  husband  consents  that  there 
shall  be  no  separation  and  no  scandal.  But  it  will  be  ad- 
visable for  you  both  that  there  shall  be  as  little  intercourse 
as  possible.  Your  husband  will  breakfast  and  dine  by 
himself,  and  occupy  his  own  apartments.  You  are  free, 
provided  you  live  in  the  same  house,  and  keep  up  appear- 
ances, to  do  whatever  you  please.  But  you  will  not  ob- 
trude your  presence  upon  your  husband." 

Mr.  Cassilis  nodded  again.  Then  he  sought  his  diction- 
ary, and  hunted  for  a  word.  It  was  the  word  he  had  first 
found,  and  was  "  Silence." 

"Yes;  you  will  also  observe  strict  silence  on  what  has 
passed  at  Twickenham,  here  or  elsewhere.  Should  that 
silence  not  be  observed,  the  advisers  of  Mr.  Cassilis  will 
recommend  such  legal  measures  as  may  be  necessary." 

Again   Gabriel   Cassilis   nodded.       He   had   not  once 


522  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

looked  up  at  his  wife  since  that  first  gaze,  in  which  he 
concentrated  the  hatred  and  loathing  of  his  speechless 
soul. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  asked  Victoria  Cassilis.  "  Or  have  we 
more  arrangements  ? " 

"  That  is  all,  madam,"  said  Joseph,  opening  the  door 
with  great  ceremony. 

She  went  away  as  she  had  come,  with  cold  haughtiness. 
Nothing  seemed  to  touch  her;  not  her  husband's  misery; 
not  his  ruin;  not  the  sight  of  her  child.  One  thing  only 
pleased  her.  Lawrence  Colquhoun  would  not  marry  dur- 
ing her  lifetime.  Bah!  she  would  live  a  hundred  years,  and 
he  should  never  marry  at  all. 

In  her  own  room  was  her  maid. 

"Tomlinson,"  said  Mrs.  Cassilis — in  spite  of  her  out- 
ward calm,  her  nerves  were  strung  to  the  utmost,  and  she 
felt  that  she  must  speak  to  some  one — "  Tomlinson,  if  a 
woman  wrote  anonymous  letters  about  you,  if  those  letters 
brought  misery  and  misfortune,  what  would  you  do  to  that 
woman  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know,  ma'am,"  said  Tomlinson,  whose  cheeks 
grew  white. 

"  I  will  kill  her,  Tomlinson!  I  will  kill  her!  I  will  get 
those  letters  and  prove  the  handwriting,  and  find  that 
woman  out.  I  will  devote  my  life  to  it,  and  I  will  have  no 
mercy  on  her  when  I  have  found  her.  I  will  kill  her — 
somehow — by  poison — by  stabbing — somehow;  Don  t 
tremble,  woman;  I  don't  mean  you.  And  Tomlinson^ 
forget  what  I  have  said." 

Tomlinson  could  not  forget.  She  tottered  from  the 
room,  trembling  in  every  limb. 

The  wretched  maid  had  her  revenge.  In  full  and  over- 
flowing measure.  And  yet  she  was  not  satisfied.  The 
exasperating  thing  about  revenge  is  that  it  never  does 
satisfy,  but  leaves  you  at  the  end  as  angry  as  at  the  be- 
ginning. Your  enemy  is  crushed;  you  have  seen  him 
tied  to  a  stake,  as  is  the  pleasant  wont  of  the  Red  Indian, 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  523 

and  stick  arrows,  knives,  and  red-hot  things  into  him, 
These  hurt  so  much  that  he  is  glad  to  die.  But  he  is 
dead,  and  you  can  do  no  more  to  him.  And  it  seems  a  pity, 
because  if  you  had  kept  him  alive,  you  might  have  thought 
of  other  and  more  dreadful  ways  of  revenge.  These 
doubts  will  occur  to  the  most  revenge-satiated  Christian, 
and  they  lead  to  self-reproach.  After  all,  one  might  just 
as  well  forgive  a  fellow  at  once. 

Mrs.  Cassilis  was  a  selfish  and  heartless  woman.  All 
the  harm  that  was  done  to  her  was  the  loss  of  her  great 
wealth.  And  what  had  her  husband  done  to  Tomlinson 
that  he  should  be  stricken  ?  And  what  had  others  done 
who  were  involved  with  him  in  the  great  disaster  ? 

Tomlinson  was  so  terrified,  however,  by  the  look  which 
crossed  her  mistress's  face,  that  she  went  away  that  very 
evening;  pretended  to  have  received  a  telegram  from 
Liverpool;  when  she  got  there  wrote  for  boxes  and  wages, 
with  a  letter  in  somebody  else's  writing,  for  a  reason,  to 
her  mistress,  and  then  went  to  America,  where  she  had 
relations.  She  lives  now  in  a  city  of  the  Western  States, 
where  her  brother  keeps  a  store.  She  is  a  leader  in  her 
religious  circle;  and  I  think  that  if  she  were  to  see  Vic- 
toria Cassilis  by  any  accident  in  the  streets  of  that  city, 
she  would  fly  again,  and  to  the  farthest  corners  of  the 
earth. 

So  much  for  revenge;  and  I  do  hope  that  Tomlinson's 
example  will  be  laid  to  heart,  and  pondered  by  other 
ladies'-maids  whose  mistresses  are  selfish  and  sharp- 
tempered. 


524  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

"  Farewell  to  all  my  greatness." 

THE  last  day  of  Gilead  Beck's  wealth.  He  rose  as  un- 
conscious of  his  doom,  as  that  frolicsome  kid  whose 
destiny  brought  the  tear  to  Delia's  eye.  Had  he  looked 
at  the  papers  he  would  at  least  have  ascertained 
that  Gabriel  Cassilis  was  ruined.  But  he  had  a  rooted 
dislike  to  newspapers,  and  never  looked  at  them.  He 
classed  the  editor  of  the  Times  with  Mr.  Huggins  of 
Clearville  or  Mr.  Van  Cott  of  Chicago,  but  supposed  that 
he  had  a  larger  influence.  Politics  he  despised;  criticism 
was  beyond  him;  with  social  matters  he  had  no  concern; 
and  it  would  wound  the  national  self-respect  were  he  to 
explain  how  carelessly  he  regarded  matters  which  to  Lon- 
doners seem  of  world-wide  importance. 

On  this  day  Gilead  rose  early  because  there  was  a  good 
deal  to  look  after.  His  breakfast  was  fixed  for  eleven — a 
real  breakfast.  At  six  he  was  dressed,  and  making,  in  his 
mind's  eye,  the  arrangements  for  seating  his  guests.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Cassilis,  Mrs.  L'Estrange  and  Phillis,  Lawrence 
Colquhoun,  Ladds,  and  Jack  Dunquerque — all  his  most 
intimate  friends  were  coming.  He  had  also  invited  the 
Twins,  but  a  guilty  conscience  made  them  send  an  excuse. 
They  were  now  sitting  at  home,  sober  by  compulsion  and 
in  great  wretchedness,  as  has  been  seen. 

The  breakfast  was  to  be  held  in  the  same  room  in  which 
he  once  entertained  the  men  of  genius,  but  the  appoint- 
ments were  different.  Gilead  Beck  now  went  in  for 
flowers,  to  please  the  ladies:  flowers  in  June  do  not  savour 
of  ostentation.  Also  for  fruit:  strawberries,  apricots,  cher- 
ries and  grapes  in  early  June  are  not  things  quite  beyond 
precedent,  and  his  conscience  acquitted  him  of  display 
which  might  seem  shoddy.     And  when  the  table  was  laid, 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  525 

with  its  flowers  and  fruit  and  dainty  cold  dishes  garnished 
with  all  sorts  of  pretty  things,  it  was,  he  felt,  a  work  of 
art  which  reflected  the  highest  credit  on  himself  and 
everybody  concerned. 

Gilead  Beck  was  at  great  peace  with  himself  that  morn- 
ing. He  was  resolved  on  putting  into  practice  at  once 
some  of  those  schemes  which  the  Golden  Butterfly  de- 
manded as  loudly  as  it  could  whisper.  He  would  start 
that  daily  paper  which  should  be  independent  of  commer- 
cial success;  have  no  advertisements;  boil  down  the  news; 
do  without  long  leaders;  and  always  speak  the  truth, 
without  evasion,  equivocation,  suppression,  or  exaggera- 
tion. A  miracle  in  journalism.  He  would  run  the  great 
National  Drama  which  should  revive  the  ancient  glories 
of  the  stage.  And  for  the  rest  he  would  be  guided  by  cir- 
cumstances, and  when  a  big  thing  had  to  be  done  he  would 
step  in  with  his  Pile,  and  do  that  big  thing  by  himself. 

There  was  in  all  this  perhaps  a  little  over-rating  the 
power  of  the  Pile;  but  Gilead  Beck  was,  after  all,  only 
human.  Think  what  an  inflation  of  dignity,  brother  De 
Pauper-et-egens,  would  follow  in  your  own  case  on  the 
acquisition  of  fifteen  hundred  pounds  a  day. 

Another  thing  pleased  our  Gilead.  He  knew  that  in 
his  own  country  the  difficulty  of  getting  into  what  he  felt 
to  be  the  best  society  would  be  insuperable.  The  society 
of  shoddy,  the  companionship  with  the  quickly  grown 
rich,  and  the  friendship  of  the  gilded  bladder  are  in  the 
reach  of  every  wealthy  man.  But  Gilead  was  a  man 
of  finer  feelings  ;  he  wanted  more  than  this  ;  he 
wanted  the  friendship  of  those  who  were  born  in  the 
purple  of  good  breeding.  In  New  York  he  could  not  have 
got  this.  In  London  he  did  get  it.  His  friends  were 
ladies  and  gentlemen;  they  not  only  tolerated  him,  but 
they  liked  him;  they  were  people  to  whom  he  could  give 
nothing,  but  they  courted  his  society,  and  this  pleased 
him  more  than  any  other  part  of  his  grand  Luck.  There 
was  no  great  merit  in  their  liking  the  man.     Rude  as  his 


526  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

life  had  been,  he  was  gifted  with  the  tenderest  and  kindest 
heart;  lowly  born  and  roughly  bred,  he  was  yet  a  man  of 
boundless  sympathies.  And  because  he  had  kept  his  self- 
respect  throughout,  and  was  ashamed  of  nothing,  he  slipt 
easily  and  naturally  into  the  new  circle,  picking  up  without 
difficulty  what  was  lacking  of  external  things.  Yet  he  was 
just  the  same  as  when  he  landed  in  England;  with  the 
same  earnest,  almost  solemn,  way  of  looking  at  things; 
the  same  gravity;  the  same  twang  which  marked  his  na- 
tionality. He  affected  nothing  and  pretended  nothing; 
he  hid  nothing  and  was  ashamed  of  nothing;  he  paraded 
nothing  and  wanted  to  be  thought  no  other  than  the  man 
he  was — the  ex-miner,  ex-adventurer,  ex-everything,  who 
by  a  lucky  stroke  hit  upon  lie,  and  was  living  on  the  pro- 
fits. And  perhaps  in  all  the  world  there  was  no  happier  man 
than  Gilead  Beck  on  that  bright  June  morning,  which  was 
to  be  the  last  day  of  his  grandeur.  A  purling  stream  of 
content  murmured  and  babbled  hymns  of  praise  in  his 
heart.  He  had  no  fears;  his  nerves  were  strong;  he  ex- 
pected nothing  but  a  continuous  flow  of  prosperity  and 
happiness. 

The  first  to  arrive  was  Jack  Dunquerque.  Now,  if  this 
youth  had  read  the  papers  he  would  have  been  able  to 
communicate  some  of  the  fatal  news.  But  he  had  not, 
because  he  was  full  of  Phillis.  And  if  any  rumour  of  the 
Eldorado  collapse  smote  his  ears,  it  smote  them  unnoticed, 
because  he  did  not  connect  Eldorado  with  Gilead  Beck. 
What  did  it  matter  to  this  intolerably  selfish  young  man 
how  many  British  speculators  lost  their  money  by  the 
Eldorado  smash  when  he  was  going  to  meet  Phillis.  After 
all,  the  round  world  and  all  that  is  therein  do  really  rotate 
about  a  pole — of  course  invisible — which  goes  through 
every  man's  own  centre  of  gravity,  and  sticks  out  in  a 
manner  which  may  be  felt  by  him.  And  the  reason  why 
men  have  so  many  different  opinions  is,  I  am  persuaded, 
this  extraordinary,  miraculous,  multitudinous,  simultaneous 
revolution  of  the  earth  upon  her  million   axes.     Enough 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  527 

for  Jack  that  Phillis  was  coming — Phillis,  whom  he  had  not 
seen  since  the  discovery — more  memorable  to  him  than 
any  made  by  Traveller  or  Physicist — of  the  Coping-stone. 

Jack  came  smiling  and  bounding  up  the  stairs  with 
agile  spring — a  good-half  hour  before  the  time.  Perhaps 
Phillis  might  be  before  him.     But  she  was  not. 

Then  came  Ladds.  Gilead  Beck  saw  that  there  was 
some  trouble  upon  him,  but  forbore  to  ask  him  what  it 
was.  He  bore  his  heavy  inscrutable  look,  such  as  that 
with  which  he  had  been  wont  to  meet  gambling  losses* 
untoward  telegrams  from  Newmarket,  and  other  buffet- 
ings  of  Fate. 

Then  came  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Cassilis.  Her  husband 
was  ill,  and  therefore  she  could  not  come. 

Then  came  a  letter  from  Lawrence  Colquhoun.  He 
had  most  important  business  in  the  City,  and  therefore  he 
could  not  come. 

"Seems  like  the  Wedding-feast,"  said  Gilead  irreve- 
rently. He  was  a  little  disconcerted  by  the  defec- 
tion of  so  many  guests;  but  he  had  a  leaf  taken  out  of  the 
table,  and  cheerfully  waited  for  the  remaining  two. 

They  came  at  last,  and  I  think  the  hearts  of  all  three 
leaped  within  them  at  sight  of  Phillis's  happy  face.  If  it 
was  sweet  before,  when  Jack  first  met  her,  with  the  mys- 
terious look  of  childhood  on  it,  it  was  far  sweeter  now  with 
the  bloom  and  blush  of  conscious  womanhood,  the  modest 
light  of  maidenly  joy  with  which  she  met  her  lover.  Jack 
rushed,  so  to  speak,  at  her  hand,  and  held  it  with  a  ridicu- 
lous shamelessness  only  excusable  on  the  ground  that  they 
were  almost  in  a  family  circle.  Then  Phillis  shook  hands 
with  Gilead  Beck,  with  a  smile  of  gratitude  which  meant  a 
good  deal  more  than  preliminary  thanks  for  the  coming 
breakfast.  Then  it  came  to  Ladd's  turn.  He  turned  very 
red — I  do  not  know  why — and  whispered  in  his  deepest 
bass — 

"  Know  all  about  it.     Lucky  beggar,  Jack  !     Wish  you 
happmess !" 


528  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  Thank  you,  Captain  Ladds,"  Phillis  replied,  in  her 
fearless  fashion.  "  I  am  very  happy  already.  And  so  is 
Jack." 

"  Wanted  yesterday,"  Ladds  went  on,  in  the  same  deep 
whisper — "  wanted  yesterday  to  offer  some  slight  token 
of  regard — found  I  couldn't — no  more  money — Eldorado 
smash — all  gone — locked  in  boxes — found  ring — once  my 
mother's.     Will  you  accept  it  ?" 

Phillis  understood  the  ring,  but  she  did  not  understand 
the  rest  of  the  speech.  It  was  one  of  those  old-fashioned 
rings  set  in  pearls  and  brilliants.  She  was  not  by  any 
means  above  admiring  rings,  and  she  accepted  it  with  a 
cheerful  alacrity. 

"  Sell  up,"  Ladds  growled, — "  go  away — do  something 
— earn  the  daily  crust " 

"  But  I  don't  understand  " she  interrupted. 

"  Never  mind.  Tell  you  after  breakfast.  Tell  you  all 
presently." 

And  then  they  went  to  breakfast. 

It  was  rather  a  silent  party.  Ladds  was,  as  might  have 
been  expected  of  a  man  who  had  lost  bis  all,  disposed  to 
taciturnity.  Jack  and  Phillis  were  too  happy  to  talk  much, 
Agatha  L'Estrange  and  the  host  had  all  the  conversation 
to  themselves. 

Agatha  asked  him  if  the  dainty  spread  before  them  was 
the  usual  method  of  breakfast  in  America.  Gilead  Beck 
replied  that  of  late  years  he  had  been  accustomed  to  call 
a  chunk  of  cold  pork  with  a  piece  of  bread  a  substantial 
breakfast,  and  that  the  same  luxuries  furnished  him,  as  a 
rule,  with  dinner. 

"  The  old  life,"  he  said,  "  had  its  points,  I  confess.  For 
those  who  love  cold  pork  it  was  one  long  round  of  deliri- 
ous joy.  And  there  was  always  the  future  to  look  forward 
to.  Now  the  future  has  come  I  like  it  better.  My  expe- 
rience, Mrs.  L'Estrange,  is  that  you  may  divide  men  into 
two  classes — those  who've  got  a  future,  and  those  who 
haven't.     I  belonged  to  the  class  who  had    a  future. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  529 

Sometimes  we  miss  it.  And  I  feel  like  to  cry  whenever  I 
think  of  the  boys  with  a  bright  future  before  them,  who 
fell  in  the  War  at  my  side,  not  in  tens,  but  in  hundreds. 
Sometimes  we  find  it.  I  found  it  when  I  struck  He.  And 
always,  for  those  men,  whether  the  future  come  early  or 
whether  it  come  late,  it  lies  bright  and  shinin'  before 
them,  and  so  they  never  lose  hope." 

"  And  have  women  no  future  as  well  as  men,  Mr. 
Beck  ?"  asked  Phillis. 

"  I  don't  know.  Miss  Fleming.  But  I  hope  you  have. 
Before  my  Golden  Butterfly  came  to  me  I  was  lookin' 
forward  for  my  future,  and  I  knew  it  was  bound  to  come 
in  some  form  or  other.  I  looked  forward  for  thirty  years; 
my  youth  was  gone  when  it  came,  and  half  my  manhood. 
But  it  is  here." 

"  Perhaps,  Mr.  Beck,"  said  Mrs.  L'Estrange,  who  was  a 
little  rococo  in  her  morality,  "  it  is  well  that  this  great  for- 
tune did  not  come  to  you  when  you  were  younger." 

"  You  think  that,  madam  ?  Perhaps  it  is  so.  To  fool 
around  New  York  would  be  a  poor  return  for  the  Luck 
of  the  Butterfly.  Yes;  better  as  it  is.  Providence  knows 
very  well  what  to  be  about;  it  don't  need  promptin'  from 
us.  And  impatience  is  no  manner  of  use,  not  the  least  use 
in  the  world.  At  the  right  time  the  Luck  comes;  at  the 
right  time  the  Luck  will  go.  Yes," — he  looked  solemnly 
round  the  table, — "  some  day  the  Luck  is  bound  to  go. 
When  it  goes,  I  hope  I  shall  be  prepared  for  the  change. 
But  if  it  goes  to-morrow,  it  cannot  take  away,  Mrs. 
L'Estrange,  the  memory  of  these  few  months,  your  friend- 
ship, and  yours.  Miss  Fleming.  There's  things  which  do 
not  depend  upon  He;  more  things  than  I  thought  former- 
ly; things  which  money  cannot  do.  More  than  once  I 
thought  my  pile  ought  to  find  it  easy  to  do  somethin'  use- 
ful before  the  time  comes.  But  the  world  is  a  more 
tangled  web  than  I  used  to  think," 

"  There  are  always  the  poor  among  us,"  said  the  good 
Agatha 


530  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

"  Yes,  madam,  that  is  true.  And  there  always  will  be. 
More  you  give  to  the  poor,  more  you  make  them  poor. 
There's  folks  goin'  up  and  folks  goin'  down.  You  in 
England  help  the  folks  goin'  down.  You  make  them  fall 
easy.     I  want  to  help  the  folks  goin'  up." 

At  this  moment  a  telegram  was  brought  for  him. 

It  was  from  his  London  bankers.  They  informed  him 
that  a  cheque  for  a  small  sum  had  been  presented,  but 
that  his  balance  was  already  overdrawn;  and  that  they  had 
received  a  telegram  from  New  York  ou  which  they  would 
be  glad  to  see  him. 

Gilead  Beck  read  it,  and  could  not  understand  it.  The 
cheque  was  for  his  own  weekly  account  at  the  hotel. 

He  laid  the  letter  aside,  and  went  on  with  his  exposi- 
tion of  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of  wealth.  He 
pointed  out  to  Mrs.  L'Estrange,  who  alone  listened  to 
him — Jack  was  whispering  to  Phillis,  and  Ladds  was  ab- 
sorbed in  thoughts  of  his  own — that  when  he  arrived  in  Lon- 
don he  was  possessed  with  the  idea  that  all  he  had  to  do, 
in  order  to  protect,  benefit,  and  advance  humanity,  was  to 
found  a  series  of  institutions;  that,  in  the  pursuit  of  this  • 
idea,  he  had  visited  and  examined  all  the  British  institu- 
tions he  could  hear  of;  and  that  his  conclusions  were  that 
they  were  all  a  failure. 

"  For,"  he  concluded,  **  what  have  you  done  ?  Your 
citizens  need  not  save  money,  because  a  hospital,  a  church, 
an  almshouse,  a  dispensary,  and  a  workhouse  stand  in 
every  parish;  they  need  not  be  moral,  because  there's 
homes  for  the  repentant  in  every  other  street.  All  around 
they  are  protected  by  charity  and  the  State.  Even  if 
they  get  knocked  down  in  the  street,  they  need  not  fight, 
because  there's  a  policeman  within  easy  hail.  You  breed 
your  poor,  Mrs.  L'Estrange,  and  you  take  almighty  care 
to  keep  them  always  with  you.  In  my  country  he  whoj 
can  work  and  won't  work  goes  to  the  wall;  he  starves,  and] 
a  good  thing  too.     Here  he  gets  fat. 

"  Every  way,"  he  went  on,  "  you  encourage  your  people 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  53I 

to  do  nothing.  Your  clever  young  men  get  a  handsome 
income  for  life,  I  am  told,  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  if 
they  pass  one  good  examination.  For  us  the  examination 
is  only  the  beginning.  Your  clergymen  get  a  handsome 
mcome  for  life,  whether  they  do  their  work  or  not.  Ours 
have  got  to  go  on  preachin'  well  and  livin'  well;  else  we 
want  to  know  the  reason  why.  You  give  your  subalterns 
as  much  as  other  nations  give  their  colonels;  you  set  them 
down  to  a  grand  mess  every  day  as  if  they  were  all  born 
lords.  You  keep  four  times  as  many  naval  officers  as  you 
want,  and  ten  times  as  many  generals.  It's  all  waste  and 
lavishin'  from  end  to  end.  And  as  for  your  Royal  Family, 
I  reckon  that  I'd  find  a  dozen  families  in  Massachusetts 
alone  who'd  run  the  Royal  Mill  for  a  tenth  of  the  money. 
I  own  they  wouldn't  have  the  same  gracious  manners,"  he 
added  **  And  your  Princess  is — wal,  if  Miss  Fleming 
were  Princess,  she  couldn't  do  the  part  better.  Perhaps 
gracious  manners  are  worth  paying  for." 

Here  another  telegram  was  brought  him. 

It  was  from  New  York.  It  informed  him  in  plain  and 
intelligible  terms  that  his  wells  had  all  run  dry,  that  his 
credit  was  exhausted,  and  that  no  more  bills  would  be 
honoured. 

He  read  this  aloud  with  a  firm  voice  and  unfaltering 
eye.     Then  he  looked  round  him,  and  said  solemnly — 

"  The  time  has  come.  It's  come  a  little  sooner  than  I 
expected.     But  it  has  come  at  last." 

He  was  staggered,  but  he  remembered  something  which 
consoled  him. 

"  At  least,"  he  said,  "  if  the  income  is  gone,  the  Pile  re- 
mains. That's  close  upon  half  a  million  of  English 
money.  We  can  do  something  with  that.  Mr.  Cassilis 
has  got  it  all  for  me." 

"  Who  ?  "  cried  Ladds  eagerly. 

"  Mr.  Gabriel  Cassilis,  the  great  English  financier." 

"  He  is  ruined,"  said  Ladds.  "  He  has  failed  for  two 
millions  sterling.     If  your  money  is  in  his  hands  "- 


532  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY 

**  Part  of  it,  I  believe,  was  in  Eldorado  Stock." 

"  The  Eldoradians  cannot  pay  their  interest.  And  the 
stock  has  sunk  to  nothing.  Gabriel  Cassilis  has  lost  all  my 
money  in  it — at  least,  I  have  lost  it  on  his  recommenda- 
tion." 

"  Your  money  all  gone,  Tommy  ? "  cried  Jack. 

"  All,  Jack — Ladds'  Aromatic  Cocoa — Fragrant — Nutri- 
tious— no  use  now — business  sold  twenty  years  ago. 
Proceeds  sunk  in  Eldorado  Stock.  Nothing  but  the  smell 
left." 

And  while  they  were  gazing  in  each  other's  face  with 
mute  bewilderment,  a  third  messenger  arrived  with  a 
letter. 

It  was  from  Mr.  Mowll  the  secretary.  It  informed 
poor  Gilead  that  Mr.  Gabriel  Cassilis  had  drawn,  in  ac- 
cordance with  his  power  of  attorney,  upon  him  to  the  fol- 
lowing extent.  A  bewildering  mass  of  figures  followed, 
at  the  bottom  of  which  was  the  total — Gilead  Beck's  two 
million  dollars.  That,  further,  Gabriel  (Cassilis,  always,  it 
appeared,  acting  on  the  wishes  of  Mr.  Beck,  had  invested 
the  whole  sum  in  Eldorado  Stock.  That,  &c.  He  threw 
the  letter  on  the  table  half  unread.  Then,  after  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation,  he  rose  solemnly,  and  sought  the  corner 
of  the  room  in  which  stood  the  safe  containing  the 
Emblem  of  his  Luck,  He  opened  it,  and  took  out  the 
box  of  glass  and  gold  which  held  it.  This  was  covered 
with  a  case  of  green  leather.  He  carried  it  to  the  table. 
They  all  crowded  round  while  he  raised  the  leathern 
cover  and  displayed  the  Butterfly. 

"  Has  any  one,"  he  Hfted  his  head  and  looked  helplessly 
round, — "  has  any  one  felt  an  airthquake  ?" 

For  a  strange  thing  had  happened  The  wings  of  the 
insect  were  lying  on  the  floor  of  the  box;  the  white  quartz 
which  formed  its  body  had  slipped  from  the  gold  wire 
which  held  it  up,  and  the  Golden  Butterfly  was  in  pieces. 

He  opened  the  box  with  a  little  gold  key  and  took  out 
the  fragments  of  the  two  wings  and  the  body. 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  533 

«  Gone  !"  he  said.     "  Broken  ! 

'  If  this  golden  Butterfly  fall  and  break, 
Farewell  the  Luck  of  Gilead  P.  Beck.' 

Your  own  lines,  Mr.  Dunquerque.  Broken  into  little  bits 
It  is.  The  He  run  dry,  the  credit  exhausted,  and  the  Pile 
fooled  away." 

No  one  spoke. 

*'  I  am  sorry  for  you  most,  Mr.  Dunquerque.  I  am 
powerful  sorry,  sir.  I  had  hoped,  with  the  assistance  of 
Miss  P  leming,  to  divide  that  Pile  with  you.  Now,  sir, 
I've  got  nothing.  Not  a  red  cent  left  to  divide  with  a 
beggar. 

"  Mrs.  L'Estrange,"  he  went  on,  **  those  last  words  of 
mme  were  prophetic.  When  I  am  gone  back  to  America 
— I  suppose  the  odds  and  ends  here  will  pay  my  passage 
— you'll  remember  that  I  said  the  Luck  would  some  day 
go." 

It  was  all  so  sudden,  so  incomprehensible,  that  no  one 
present  had  a  word  to  say,  either  of  sympathy  or  of 
sorrow. 

Gilead  Beck  proceeded  with  his  soliloquy  : 

»  I've  had  a  real  high  time  for  three  months;  the  best 
three  months  of  my  life.  Whatever  happens  more  can't 
touch  the  memory  of  the  last  three  months.  I've  met 
English  ladies  and  made  friends  of  English  gentlemen. 
There's  Amer'can  ladies  and  Amer'can  gentlemen,  but  I 
can't  speak  of  them,  because  I  nevei  went  into  their  so- 
ciety You  don't  find  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  Empire 
City  And  in  all  the  trades  I've  turned  my  attention  to, 
from  school-keepin'  to  editing,  there's  not  been  one 
where  Amer'can  ladies  cared  to  show  their  hand.  That 
means  that  the  Stars  and  Stripes  may  be  as  good  as  the 
Union  Jack — come  to  know  them." 

He  stopped  and  pulled  himself  together  with  a  laugh. 

'  I  can't  make  it  out, — somehow.  Seems  as  if  I'm  in  a 
dream.  Is  it  real  ?  Is  the  story  of  the  Golden  Butterfly 
a  true  story,  or  is  it  made  up  out  of  some  man's  brain  ?" 

"  It  is  real,  Mr.  Beck,"  said  Phillis,  softly  putting  het 
hand  in  his.  "  It  is  real.  No  one  could  have  invented 
such  a  story.  See,  dear  Mr.  Beck,  you  that  we  all  love  so 
much,  there  is  you  in  it,  and  I  am  in  it — and — and  the 
Twins.  Why,  if  people  saw  us  all  in  a  book  they  would 
say  it  was  impossible.  I  am  the  only  girl  in  all  the  civil- 
ised   world  who   can   neither   read   nor  write — and  Jack 


534  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

doesn't  mind   it — and   you  are  the  only  man  who  ever 
found  the  Golden  Butterfly.     Indeed  it  is  all  real." 

"  It  is  all  real,  Beck,"  Jack  echoed.  "  You  have  had 
the  high  time,  and  sorry  indeed  we  are  that  it  is  over. 
But  perhaps  it  is  not  all  over.  Surely  something  out  of 
the  two  million  dollars  must  have  remained." 

Mr.  Beck  pointed  sorrowfully  to  the  three  pieces  which 
were  the  fragments  of  the  Butterfly. 

"  Nothing  is  left,"  he  said.  "  Nothing  except  the  solid 
gold  that  made  his  cage.  And  that  will  go  to  pay  the 
hotel-bill." 

Mrs.  L'Estrange  looked  on  in  silence.  What  was  this 
quiet  lady,  this  woman  of  even  and  uneventful  life,  to  say 
in  the  presence  of  such  misfortune  ? 

Ladds  held  out  his  hand. 

•'  Worth  twenty  of  any  of  us,"  he  said.  "  We  are  in  the 
same  boat." 

"  And  you,  too,  Captain  Ladds  !  "  Gilead  cried.  "  It  is 
worse  than  my  own  misfortune,  because  I  am  a  rough  man 
and  can  go  back  to  the  rough  life.  No,  Mrs.  L'Estrange 
— no,  my  dear  young  lady — I  can't — not  with  the  same 
light  heart  as  before — you've  spoiled  me.  I  must  strike 
out  something  new — away  from  Empire  City  and  He  and 
gold.  I'm  spoiled.  It's  not  the  cold  chunk  of  pork  that; 
I  am  afraid  of;  it  is  the  beautiful  life  and  the  sweetness 
that  I'm  going  to  lose.  I  said  I  hoped  I  should  be  pre- 
pared to  meet  the  fall  of  my  Luck — when  it  came.  But  I 
never  thought  it  would  come  like  this." 

"  Stay  with  us,  Mr.  Beck,"  said  Phillis.  "  Don't  go  back 
to  the  old  life." 

"  Stay  with  us,'  said  Jack.     "We  will  all  live  together." 

"  Do  not  leave  us,  Mr.  Beck,''  said  Mrs.  L'Estrange. 
(Women  can  blush,  although  they  may  be  past  forty.) 
"  Stay  here  with  your  friends.' 

He  looked  from  one  to  the  othet,  and  something  like  a 
tear  glittered  in  his  eye.     But  he  shook  his  head. 

Then  he  took  up  the  wmgs  ot  the  Butterfly,  the  pretty 
golden  latnincB  cut  in  the  perfect  shape  of  a  wing,  marked 
and  veined  by  Nature  as  if,  fo:  cnce  she  was  determined 
to  show  that  she  too  couid  be  an  Artist  and  imitate  her 
self.  They  lay  in  her  hands,  and  he  looked  fondly  at 
them. 

"  What  shall  I  do  with  these  ? "  he  said  softly.  "  They 
have  been  very  good  to  me.  They  have  given  me  the 
pleasantest  hours  of  my  lite.     They  have  made  me  dream 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  535 

of  power  as  if  I  was  Autocrat  of  All  the  Russians.  Say, 
Mrs.  L'Estrange — since  my  chief  pleasure  has  come 
through  Mr,  Dunquerque — may  I  offer  the  broken 
Butterfly  to  Miss  Fleming  ?  " 

He  laid  the  wings  before  her  with  a  sweet  sad  smile. 
Jack  took  them  up  and  looked  at  them.  In  the  white 
quartz  were  the  little  holes  where  the  wings  had  fitted. 
He  put  them  back  in  their  old  place — the  wings  in  the 
quartz.  They  fitted  exactly,  and  in  a  moment  the  butterfly 
was  as  it  had  always  been. 

Jack  deftly  bent  round  it  again  the  golden  wire  which 
held  it  to  the  golden  flower.  Singular  to  relate,  the  wire 
fitted  like  the  wings  just  the  same  as  before,  and  the 
Butterfly  vibrated  on  its  perch  again. 

"  It's  wonderful !  "  cried  Gilead  Beck.  "  It's  the  Luck 
I've  given  away.  It's  gone  to  you,  Miss  Fleming.  But 
it  won't  take  the  form  of  He.' 

"  Then  take  it  back,  Mr.  Beck,"  cried  Phillis. 

•'  No,  young  lady.  The  Luck  left  me  of  its  own  accord. 
That  was  shown  when  the  Butterfly  fell  off  the  wires.  It 
is  yours  now,  yours;  and  you  will  make  a  better  use 
of  it, 

"  I  think,"  he  went  on,  with  his  hand  upon  the  golden 
case, — "  I  think  there's  a  Luck  in  the  world  which  I  never 
dreamed  of,  a  better  Luck  than  He.  Mrs.  L'Estrange, 
you  know  what  sort  of  Luck  I  mean  ? " 

'•  Yes,  Mr.  Beck,  I  know,"  she  replied. 

Phillis  laid  her  hands  on  Jack's  shoulder,  while  his  arm 
stole  round  her  waist. 

"It  is  Love,  Mr.  Beck,"  said  the  girl.  "Yes;  that  is 
the  best  Luck  in  all  the  world,  and  I  am  sure  of  it." 

Jack  stooped  and  kissed  her.  The  simplicity  and  inno- 
cence of  this  maiden  went  to  Gilead  Beck's  heart.  They 
were  a  religion  to  him,  an  education.  In  the  presence  of 
that  guileless  heart  all  earthly  thoughts  dropped  from  his 
soul,  and  he  was,  like  the  girl  before  him,  pure  in  heart 
and  clean  in  memory.  That  is  indeed  the  sweet  enchant- 
ment of  innocence:  a  bewitchment  out  of  which  we  need 
never  awake  unless  we  like. 

"Take  the  case  and  all,  Miss  Fleming,"  said  Gilead  Beck. 

But  she  would  not  have  the  splendid  case  with  its  thick 
plate  glass  and  solid  gold  pillars. 

Then  Gilead  Beck  brought  out  the  little  wooden  box, 
the  same  in  which  the  Golden  Butterfly  lay  when  he  ran 
from  the  Bear  on  the  slopes  of  the  Sierra  Nevada.     And 


53^  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

Phillis  laid  her  new  treasure  in  the  cotton-wool  and  slung 
the  box  by  its  steel  chain  round  his  neck,  laughing  in  a 
solemn  fashion. 

While  they  talked  thus  sadly,  the  door  opened,  and 
Lawrence  Colquhoun  stood  befoi'e  them. 

Agatha  cried  out  when  she  saw  him,  because  he  was 
transformed.  The  lazy  insouciant  look  was  gone;  a 
troubled  look  was  in  its  place.  Worse  than  a  troubled 
look — a  look  of  misery;  a  look  of  self-reproach;  a  look  as 
of  a  criminal  brought  to  the  bar  and  convicted. 

"  Lawrence  !"  cried  Mrs.  L'Estrange. 

He  came  into  the  room  in  a  helpless  sort  ot  way,  his 
hands  shaking  before  him  like  those  of  some  half-blind 
old  man. 

"  Phillis,"  he  said,  in  hoarse  voice,  "  forgive  me  !" 

"  What  have  I  to  forgive,  Lawrence  ?" 

"  Forgive  me  ''  he  repeated  humbly.  **  Nay,  you  do 
not  understand.  Dunquerque,  it  is  for  you  to  speak — for 
all  of  you — you  all  love  Phillis.  Agatha — you  love  her — 
you  used  to  love  me  too.     How  shall  I  tell  you  ?" 

"  I  think  we  guess,"  said  Gilead. 

"  I  did  it  for  the  best,  Phillis.  I  thought  to  double 
your  fortune.  Cassilis  said  I  should  double  it.  I  thought 
to  double  my  own.  T  put  all  your  money,  child,  every 
farthing  of  your  money,  in  Eldorado  Stock  by  his  advice, 
and  all  my  own  too.  And  it  is  all  gone — every  penny  of 
it  gone." 

Jack  Dunquerque  clasped  Phillis  tighter  bv  the  hand. 

She  only  laughed. 

"  Why,  Lawrence,  she  said,  "  what  if  you  have  lost  all 
my  money  ?     Jack  doesn't  care.     Do  you  Jack  ?" 

"  No,  darling,  no,"  said  Jack.  And  at  the  moment — 
such  was  the  infatuation  of  this  young  man — he  really  did 
not  care. 

"  Lawrence,"  said  Agatha,  "  you  acted  for  the  best. 
Don't  dear  Lawrence,  don't  trouble  too  much.  Captain 
Ladds  has  lost  all  his  fortune,  too — and  Mr.  Beck  has  lost 
all  his — and  we  are  all  ruined  together." 

"  All  ruined  together  !"  echoed  Gilead  Beck,  looking  at 
Mrs.  L'Estrange.  "  Gabriel  Cassilis  is  a  wonderful  man. 
I  alwavs  said  he  was  a  wonderful  man." 


In  the  evening  the  three  ruined  men  sat  together  in 
Gilead's  room. 


THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY.  537 

"  Nothing  saved,  Colquhoun  ?"  asked  Ladds,  after  a 
long  pause. 

"  Nothing.  The  stock  was  70  when  I  bought  in  :  70 
at  10  percent.  It  is  now  anything  you  Hke — 4,  6,  8,  16 — 
what  you  please — because  no  one  will  buy  it." 

"  Wal,"  said  Gilead  Beck,  "  it  does  seem  rough  on  us 
all,  and  perhaps  it's  rougher  on  you  two  than  it  is  on  me. 
But  to  think,  only  to  think,  that  such  an  almighty  Pile 
should  be  fooled  away  on  a  darned  half-caste  State  like 
Eldorado  !  And  for  all  of  us  to  believe  Mr.  Gabriel  Cas- 
silis  a  whole-souled,  high-toned  speculator. 

"  Once  I  thought,"  he  continued,  **  that  we  Amer'cans 
must  be  the  Ten  Tribes;  because,  I  said,  nobody  but  one 
out  of  the  Ten  Tribes  would  get  such  a  providential  lift 
as  the  Golden  Butterfly.  Gentlemen,  my  opinions  are 
changed  since  this  morning.  I  believe  we're  nothing  bet- 
ter, not  a  single  cent  better,  than  one  of  the  kicked-out 
Tribes.  I  may  be  an  Amalekite,  or  I  may  be  a  Hivite; 
but  I'm  darned  if  I  ever  call  myself  again  one  of  the 
children  of  Abraham." 


CHAPTER   THE   LAST. 

"  Whisper  Love,  ye  breezes ;  sigh 

In  Love's  content,  soft  air  of  morn; 
Let  eve  in  brighter  sunsets  die, 

And  day  with  brighter  dawn  be  bom." 

IT  is  a  week  since  the  disastrous  day.  Gilead  Beck  has 
sold  the  works  of  art  with  which  he  intended  to  found 
his  Grand  National  Collection;  he  has  torn  up  his  great 
schemes  for  a  National  Theatre,  a  Grand  National  Paper; 
he  has  ceased  to  think,  for  the  delectation  of  the  Golden 
Butterfly,  about  improving  the  human  race.  His  grati- 
tude to  that  prodigy  of  Nature  has  so  far  cooled  that  he 
now  considers  it  more  in  the  light  of  a  capricious  sprite,  a 
sort  of  Robin  Good-fellow,  than  as  a  benefactor.  He  has 
also  changed  his  views  as  to  the  construction  of  the  round 
earth,  and  all  that  is  therein.  He,  he  says,  may  be  found 
by  other  lucky  adventures;  but  He  is  not  to  be  depended 
on  for  a  permanence.  He  would  now  recommend  those 
who  strike  He  to  make  their  Pile  as  quickly  as  may  be,  and 
devote  all  their  energies  to  the  safety  of  that  pile.  And 
as  to  the  human  race,  it  may  slide. 

"What's  the  good,"  he  says  to  Jack   Dunquerque,  "of 
helpin'  up  those   that  are   bound   to   climb  ?     Let  them 


53^  THE   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

climb.  And  what's  the  good  of  tryin'  to  save  those  that 
are  bound  to  fall  ?  Let  them  fall.  I'm  down  myself;  but 
I  mean  to  get  up  again." 

It  is  sad  to  record  that  Mr.  Burls,  the  picture-dealer, 
refused  to  buy  back  again  the  great  picture  of  **  Sisera  and 
Jael."  No  one  would  purchase  the  work  at  all.  Mr. 
Beck  offered  it  to  the  Langham  Hotel  as  a  gift.  The  di- 
rectors firmly  declined  to  accept  it.  When  it  was  evident 
that  this  remarkable  effort  of  genius  was  appreciated  by 
no  one,  Gilead  Beck  resolved  on  leaving  it  where  it  was. 
It  is  rumoured  that  the  manager  of  the  hotel  bribed  the 
owner  of  a  certain  Regent  Street  restaurant  to  take  it 
away;  and  I  have  heard  that  it  now  hangs,  having  been 
greatly  cut  down,  on  the  wall  of  that  establishment,  get- 
ting its  tones  mellowed  day  by  day  with  the  steam  of  roast 
and  boiled.  As  for  the  other  pictures,  Mr.  Burls  ex- 
pressed his  extreme  sorrow  that  temporary  embarrassment 
prevented  him  purchasing  them  back  at  the  price  given 
for  them.  He  afterwards  told  Mr.  Beck  that  the  unprinci- 
pled picture-dealer  who  did  ultimately  buy  them,  at  the 
price  of  so  much  a  square  foot,  and  as  second-rate  copies, 
was  a  disgrace  to  his  honourable  profession.  He,  he 
said,  stood  high  in  public  estimation  for  truth,  generosity, 
and  fair  dealing.  None  but  genuine  works  came  from  his 
own  establishment;  and  what  he  called  a  Grooze  was  a 
Grooze,  and  nothing  but  a  Grooze. 

As  for  the  Pile,  Gilead's  power  of  attorney  had  effec- 
tually destroyed  that.  There  was  not  a  cent  left;  not  one 
single  coin  to  rub  against  another.  All  was  gone  in 
that  great  crash. 

He  called  upon  Gabriel  Cassilis.  The  financier  smiled 
upon  him  with  his  newly-born  air  of  sweetness  and  trust; 
but,  as  we  have  seen,  he  could  no  longer  speak,  and  there 
was  nothing  in  his  face  to  express  sorrow  or  repentance. 

Gilead  found  himself,  when  all  was  wound  up,  the  pos- 
sessor of  that  single  cheque  which  Joseph  Jagenal  had 
placed  in  his  hands,  and  which,  most  fortunately  for  him- 
self, he  had  not  paid  into  the  bank. 

Four  hundred  pounds.  With  that,  at  forty-five,  he  was 
to  begin  the  world  again.  After  all,  the  majority  of  man- 
kind at  forty-five  have  much  less  than  four  hundred 
pounds. 

He  heard  from  Canada  that  the  town  he  had  built,  the 
whole  of  which  belonged  to  him,  was  deserted  again. 
There  was  a  quicker  rush  out  of  it  thai\  into  it.     It  stands 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  539 

there  now,  more  lonely  than  Empire  City — its  derricks  and 
machinery  rusting  and  dropping  to  pieces,  the  houses 
empty  and  neglected,  the  land  relapsing  into  its  old  condi- 
tion of  bog  and  marsh.  But  Gilead  Beck  will  never  see  it 
again. 

He  kept  away  from  Twickenham  during  this  winding- 
up  and  settlement  of  affairs.  It  was  a  week  later  when,  his 
mind  at  rest  and  his  conscience  clear  of  bills  and  doubts, 
because  now  there  was  nothing  more  to  lose,  he  called  at 
the  house  where  he  had  spent  so  many  pleasant  hours. 

Mrs.  L'Estrange  received  him.  She  was  troubled  in 
look,  and  the  traces  of  tears  were  on  her  face. 

•'  It  is  a  most  onfortunate  time,"  Gilead  said  sympa- 
thetically; "a  most  onfortunate  time." 

**  Blow  after  blow,  Mr.  Beck,"  Agatha  sobbed.  "  Stroke 
upon  stroke." 

'*  That  is  so,  madam.  They've  got  the  knife  well  in, 
this  time,  and  when  they  give  it  a  twist  we're  bound  to 
cry  out.  You've  thought  me  selfish,  I  know,  not  to 
inquire  before." 

"No,  Mr.  Beck;  no.  It  is  only  too  kind  of  you  to 
think  of  us  in  your  overwhelming  disaster.  I  have  never 
spent  so  wretched  a  week.  Poor  Lawrence  has  literally 
not  a  penny  leit,  except  what  he  gets  from  the  sale  of  his 
horses,  pictures  and  things.  Captain  Ladds  is  the  same; 
Phillis  has  no  longer  a  farthing;  and  now,  Oh  dear,  Oh 
dear.     I  am  going  to  lose  her  altogether  !" 

"  But  when  she  marries  Mr.  Dunquerque  you  will  see 
her  often." 

♦*  No,  no.  Haven't  they  told  you  ?  Jack  has  got  almost 
nothing — only  ten  thousand  pounds  altogether;  and  they 
have  made  up  their  minds  to  emigrate.  They  are  going 
to  Virginia,  where  Jack  will  buy  a  small  estate." 

"  Is  that  so  ?"  asked  Gilead  meditatively. 

"  Lawrence  says  that  he  and  Captain  Ladds  will  go 
away  togetner  somewhere  ;  perhaps  back  to  Empire 
City.' 

"  And  you  will  be  left  alone — you,  Mrs.  L'Estrange — 
all  alone  in  this  country,  and  ruined.  It  mustn't  be."  He 
straightened  himself  up,  and  looked  round  the  room.  "  It 
must  not  be,  Mrs.  L'Estrange.  You  know  me  partly — 
that  is,  you  know  the  manner  of  man  I  wish  to  seem  and 
try  to  be.-  you  know  what  I  have  been.  You  do  not  know, 
because  you  cannot  guess,  the  things  which  you  have  put 
intc  my  head." 


54©  THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

Mrs.  L'Estrange  blushed  and  began  to  tremble.  Could 
it  be  possible  that  he  was  actually  going  to 

He  was. 

"You  and  I  together,  Mrs.  I/Estrange,  are  gone  to 
wreck  in  this  almighty  hurricane.  I've  got  one  or  two 
thousand  dollars  left;  perhaps  you  will  have  as  much, 
perhaps  not.  Mrs.  L'Estrange,  you  will  think  it  presump- 
tuous in  a  rough  American — not  an  American  gentleman 
by  birth  and  raising — to  offer  you  such  protection  and 
care  as  he  can  give  to  the  best  of  women  .<'  We,  too,  will 
go  to  Virginia  with  Mr.  Dunquerque  and  his  wife;  we  will 
settle  near  them,  and  watch  their  happiness.  The  Vir- 
ginians are  a  kindly  folk,  and  love  the  English  people,  es 
pecially  if  they  are  of  gentle  birth.  Say,  Mrs.  L'Estrange." 

"  O  Mr.  Beck  !  I  am  forty  years  of  age  !" 

"  And  I  am  five  and  forty." 

Just  then  Phillis  and  Jack  burst  into  the  room.  They 
did  not  look  at  all  like  being  ruined;  they  were  wild  with 
joy  and  good  spirits. 

"  And  you  are  going  to  Virginia,  Mr.  Dunquerque  ?" 
said  Gilead.  "  I  am  thinking  of  going,  too,  if  I  can  per- 
suade this  lady  to  go  with  me." 

"  O  Agatha  !  come  with  us  !" 

"  Come  with  me,"  corrected  Gilead. 

Then  Phillis  saw  how  things  lay — what  a  change  in 
Phillis,  to  see  so  much  ? — and  half  laughing,  but  more  in 
seriousness  than  in  mirth,  threw  her  arms  round  Agatha's 
neck. 

"  Will  you  come,  dear  Agatha  ?  He  is  a  good  man, 
and  he  loves  you;  and  we  will  all  live  near  together  and 
be  happy." 


Three  short  scenes  to  conclude  my  story. 

It  is  little  more  than  a  year  since  Agatha  L'Estrange, 
as  shy  and  blushing  as  any  maiden — much  more  shy  than 
Phillis — laid  her  hand  in  Gilead 's,  with  the  confession, 
half  sobbed  out,  "  And  it  isn't  a  mistake  you  are  making, 
because  I  am  not  ruined  at  all.  It  is  only  you  and  these 
poor  children  and  Lawrence." 

We  are  back  again  to  Empire  City.  It  is  the  early  fall, 
September.  The  yellow  leaves  clothe  all  the  forests  with 
brown  and  gold;  the  sunlight  strikes  upon  the  peaks 
and  ridges  of  the  great  Sierra,  lights  up  the  broad 
belt  of  wood  making  shadows  blacker  than  night,  and  lise 


THE    GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  541 

along  the  grass  grown  streets  of  the  deserted  Empire  City. 
Two  men  in  hunting-dress  are  making  their  way  slowly 
through  the  grass  and  weeds  that  choke  the  pathway. 

"  Don't  like  it,  Colquhoun,"  says  one  ;  "  more  ghostly 
than  ever," 

They  push  on,  and  presently  the  foremost,  Ladds,  starts 
back  with  a  cry. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asks  Colquhoun. 

They  push  aside  the  brambles,  and  behold  a  skeleton. 
The  body  has  been  on  its  knees,  but  now  only  the  bones 
are  left.  They  are  clothed  in  the  garb  of  the  celestial,  and 
one  side  of  the  skull  is  broken  in,  as  if  with  a  shot. 

"  It  must  be  my  old  friend  Achow,"  said  Colquhoun 
calmly,     "  See,  he's  been  murdered," 

In  the  dead  of  night  Ladds  awakened  Colquhoun. 
"  Can't  help  it,"  he  said  ;  "very  sorry.     Ghosts  walking 
about  the  stairs.     Says  the  ghost  of  Achow  to  the  shade 
Leeching,    'No  your  piecy  pidgin   makee   shootee   me,* 
Don't  like  ghosts,  Colquhoun," 

Next  morning  they  left  Empire  City.  Ladds  was  firm 
in  the  conviction  that  he  had  heard  and  seen  a  Chinaman's 
ghost,  and  was  resolute  against  stopping  another  night  in 
the  place. 

Just  outside  the  town  they  made  another  discov- 
ery. 

"  Good  Lord  ! "  cried  Ladds,  frightened  out  of  sobriety 
of  speech.  "  It  rains  skeletons.  Look  there  ;  he's  beck- 
oning ! " 

And,  to  be  sure,  before  them  was  raised,  with  finger  as 
of  invitation,  a  skeleton  hand. 

This,  too,  belonged  to  a  complete  assortment  of  human 
bones  clad  in  Chinese  dress.  By  its  side  lay  a  rusty  pistol. 
Lawrence  picked  it  up. 

"  By  Gad  !"  he  said, "  it's  the  same  pistol  I  gave  to 
Leeching.     How  do  you  read  this  story,  Ladds  ?" 

Ladds  sat  down  and  replied  slowly.  He  said  that  he 
never  did  like  reading  ghost  stories,  and  since  the  appari- 
tion of  the  murdered  Achow,  the  night  before,  he  should 
like  them  still  less.  Ghost  stories,  he  said,  are  all  very 
well  until  you  come  to  see  and  hear  a  ghost.  Now  that 
he  had  a  ghost  story  of  his  own— an  original  one  in  pigeon 
English — he  did  not  intend  ever  to  read  another.  There- 
fore Colquhoun  must  excuse  him  if  he  gave  up  the  story 
of  Leeching's  skeleton  entirely  to  his  own  reading.  He 
4ien  went  on  to  say  that  he  never  had  liked  skeletons, 


542  THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY. 

and  that  he  believed  Empire  City  was  nothing  but  a 
mouldy  old  churchyard  v/ithout  the  church,  while,  as  a 
cemetery,  it  wasn't  a  patch  upon  Highgate.  And  the 
mention  of  Highgate,  he  said,  reminded  him  of  Phillis; 
and  he  proposed  they  should  both  get  to  Virginia,  and 
call  upon  Jack  and  his  wife. 

All  this  took  time  to  explain  ;  and  meanwhile  Lawrence 
was  poking  the  butt  end  of  his  gun  about  in  the  grass  to 
see  if  there  was  anything  more.  There  was  something 
more.  It  was  a  bag  of  course  yellow  canvas,  tied  by  a 
string  round  what  had  been  the  waist  of  a  man.  Law 
rence  cut  the  string,  and  opened  the  bag. 

"We're  in  luck.  Tommy.     Look  at  this." 

It  was  the  gold  so  laboriously  scraped  together  by  the 
two  Chinamen,  which  had  caused,  in  a  manner,  the  death 
of  both. 

**  Lift  it.  Tommy."  Colquhoun  grew  excited  at  his 
find.  "  Lift  it — there  must  be  a  hundred  and  fifty  ounces, 
I  should  think.  It  will  be  worth  four  or  five  hundred 
pounds.     Here's  a  find  !  " 

To  this  pair,  who  had  only  a  year  ago  chucked  away 
their  thousands,  the  luck  of  picking  up  a  bag  of  gold  ap- 
peared something  wonderful. 

"  Tommy,"  said  Colquhoun,  "  I  tell  you  what  we  will 
do.  We  will  add  this  little  windfall  to  what  Beck  would 
call  your  little  pile  and  my  little  pile.  And  we'll  go  and 
buy  a  little  farm  in  Virginia,  too  ;  and  we  will  live  there 
close  to  Jack  and  Phillis.  Agatha  will  like  it  too.  And 
there's  capital  shooting." 

Gabriel  Cassillis  and  his  wife  reside  at  Brighton.  The 
whole  of  the  great  fortune  being  lost,  they  have  nothing 
but  Victoria's  settlement.  That  gives  them  a  small 
income.  "  Enough  to  subsist  upon,  Victoria  tells  her 
friends.  The  old  man — he  looks  very  old  and  fragile 
now — is  wheeled  about  in  a  chair  on  sunny  days.  When 
he  is  not  being  wheeled  about  he  plays  with  his  child,  to 
whom  he  talks;  that  is,  pours  out  a  stream  of  meaningless 
words,  because  he  will  never  again  talk  coherently.  Vic- 
toria is  exactly  the  same  as  ever — cold,  calm,  and  proud. 
Nor  is  there  anything  whatever  in  her  manner  to  her  hus- 
band, if  she  accidently  meet  him,  to  show  that  she  has  the 
slightest  sorrow,  shame,  or  repentance  for  the  catastrophe 
she  brought  about.     Joseph  Jagenal  is  working  the  great 


THE   GOLDEN    BUTTERFLY.  543 

Dyson  will  case  for  them,  and  is  confident  that  he  will  get 
the  testator's  intentions,  which  can  now  be  only  imper- 
fectly understood,  set  aside,  when  Gabriel  Cassilis  will 
once  more  become  comparatively  wealthy. 


On  a  verandah  in  sunny  Virginia,  Agatha  Beck  sits 
quietly  working,  and  crooning  some  old  song  in  sheer 
content  and  peace  of  heart.  Presently  she  lifts  her  head 
as  she  hears  a  step.  That  smile  with  which  she  greets  her 
husband  shows  that  she  is  happy  in  her  new  life.  Gilead 
Beck  is  in  white,  with  a  broad  straw  hat,  because  it  is  in 
hot  September.     In  his  hand  he  has  a  letter. 

"  Good  news,  wife;  good  news,"  he  says.  *' Jack  and 
Phillis  are  coming  here  to-day,  and  will  stay  till  Monday. 
Will  be  here  almost  as  soon  as  the  note.  Baby  coming, 
too." 

"  Of  course,  Gilead,"  says  Agatha,  smiling  superior. 
"  As  if  the  dear  girl  would  go  anywhere  without  her 
little  Philip.     And  six  weeks  old  to-morrow." 

(Everybody  who  has  appreciated  how  very  far  from 
clever  Jack  Dunquerque  was  will  be  prepared  to  hear 
that  he  committed  an  enormous  etymological  blunder  in 
the  baptism  of  his  boy,  whom  he  named  Philip,  in  the 
firm  belief  that  Philip  was  the  masculine  form  of  Phillis. 

"  Here  they  come  !     Here  they  are  !  " 

Jack  comes  rattling  up  to  the  house  in  his  American 
trap,  jumps  out,  throws  the  reins  to  the  boy,  and  hands 
out  his  wife  with  the  child.     Kisses  and  greetings. 

Phillis  seems  at  first,  unchanged,  except  perhaps  that 
the  air  of  Virginia  has  made  her  sweet  delicacy  of  fea- 
tures more  delicate.  Yet  look  again,  and  you  find 
that  she  is  changed.  She  was  a  child  when  we  saw  her 
first;  then  we  saw  her  grow  into  a  maiden;  she  is  a  wife 
and  a  mother  now. 

She  whispers  her  husband. 

"All  right,  Phil,  dear. — Beck,  you've 'got  to  shut  your 
eyes  for  just  one  minute.  No,  turn  your  back  so.  Now 
you  may  look." 

Phillis  has  hung  round  the  neck  of  her  unconscious 
baby,  by  a  golden  chain,  the  Golden  Butterfly.  It  seems 
as  strong  and  vigorous  as  ever;  and  as  it  lies  upon  the 
child's  white  dress,  it  looks  as  if  it  were  poised  for  a  mo- 
ment's rest,  but  ready  for  flight. 

*•  That  Inseck  !  "  said  Gilead  sentimentally.     *'  Wal,  it's 


544  "^^^   GOLDEN   BUTTERFLY. 

given  me  the  best  thing  that  a  man  can  get  " — he  took 
the  hand  of  his  wife — "  love  and  friendship.  You  are  we-1 
come,  Phillis,  to  all  the  rest,  provided  that  all  the  rest 
does  not  take  away  these." 

"  Nay,"  she  said,  her  eyes  filling  with  the  gentle  dew  of 
happiness  and  content;  "I  have  all  that  I  want  for  my- 
self. I  have  my  husband  and  my  boy — my  little,  little 
Philip  !  I  am  more  than  happy;  and  so  I  give  to  tiny 
Phil  all  the  remaining  Luck  of  the  Golden  Butterfly." 


TH£  END. 


// 


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